Living With The Dead
by NicoPony
Summary: Gambit uncovers a tragic family secret which leads him to the truth of his origin. How Gambit's past has lead to the choices he's made, from Sinister's Marauder, to joining the X-Men, to Apocalypse's Death, and why he continues to keep some things to himself. Stars: Wolverine, Iceman, Rogue, Frenzy, Cecelia. Takes place in current 616 continuity.
1. Someone Great Is Gone

_(Cast: Gambit, Iceman, Wolverine, Frenzy, Rogue, Members of the Unified Guilds, and an assortment of Marvel characters from the Gambit ongoing series. Takes place in current continuity with Wolverine and the X-Men. Story contains adult language, violence, references to abuse, and adult situations.)_

_I wake up and the phone is ringing,  
>Surprised, as it's early.<br>And that should be the perfect warning,  
>That something's a problem.<em>

"Someone Great," LCD Soundsystem

"I fold," Jean-Paul announced with a grimace of disgust. He slapped his cards face-down onto the tabletop.

"I call," said Kyle with a sympathetic smile in his boyfriend Jean-Paul's direction. "Well, Bobby. What've you got?" Kyle asked as he set down two pair.

"I got nothin'!" Bobby moaned, and revealed his his hand.

"Wow, dat's really embarrassing," Remy drawled, coolly appraising Bobby's assortment of playing cards. Remy held his cards face-down on the table, his expression completely neutral.

"Fine!" Bobby said, flinging his hand in a throw-away gesture. "Let's see how bad you beat me this time."

With a self-satisfied smile, Remy turned over three cards, then the last two. "Straight," he said.

Jean-Paul sighed theatrically. "On that note...," Jean-Paul shoved his chair back and stood. "I'm getting another beer." He walked into the his apartment's kitchen, leaving the other three men where they were seated at the poker table.

"Don't bother asking if anyone would like something while you're up," Kyle said to Jean-Paul's back. Kyle smiled apologetically at his guests. "I'd be happy to bring something back from the kitchen...?"

Remy waved away Kyle's offer. Bobby finished the dregs of his bottle and held up his forefinger, signaling he'd like another as Kyle joined Jean-Paul in the kitchen.

Bobby set down his empty bottle. "I hate playing this game with you," Bobby informed Remy.

"Not up for de challenge?" Remy asked as he collected the chips and stacked them at his elbow.

"Nobody's that lucky," Bobby replied with annoyance, pointing at Remy's winnings for the evening.

"Now, luck's got nothin' t'do with it," Remy remarked proudly with a shake of his head that sent his hair falling into his eyes.

"Oh, so you admit you're cheating," Bobby said.

"Robert, consider my whoopin' your butt as a learning opportunity. You might want t'start takin' notes."

"Thanks, Professor LeBeau," Bobby replied sarcastically.

Remy moved to collect his hand and the rest of the cards when his cell phone rang. It buzzed across the table.

"Booty call," Bobby announced to Jean-Paul and Kyle.

"Now that really would be a bit of luck," Remy shot Bobby a smirk and turned his phone over so it lay face up. The caller's name and number appeared on the screen. Remy's smile quickly disappeared.

"Don't answer it," Bobby said, putting his hands behind his head. "I need to redeem myself here. Deal all ready."

Remy seized the phone as if to strangle it. "As if dat's an option," Remy muttered as the phone continued to buzz. He stood and paced away from the table.

"What? Some kind of emergency? The fashion police calling to revoke your skinny jeans privileges?" Bobby asked.

"Now there's a tragedy," Jean-Paul said in an undertone as he rejoined the table. Kyle frowned at him.

Ignoring them, Remy unlocked his smart phone and answered with a sharp: "Que veux-tu?" His expression shifted to neutrality. After a long pause, he began a long line of rapid-fire French with no discernible breaks or pauses for breath. The conversation ended just as abruptly as it began. He then stared at the face of his phone for several moments.

Jean-Paul pulled a drink from his bottle. "Your French is terrible," he declared. "I could understand perhaps one word in twenty."

"It's called a regional dialect, you snob," Remy retorted absently, then: "I have to go."

"Bad news?" asked Kyle.

Remy shook his head, not providing an answer.

"Hey, we're not finished here," Bobby said, pointing at the small pile of chips he had remaining to him. "I still have more to lose."

Remy took his jacket from the back of his chair and slid his arms into it. "As fun as dat would be, I have something I have to take care of."

"What could need taken care of at quarter past twelve? Unless it really is a booty call," Bobby said as Remy walked away. "Hellooo...are you going to answer me?"

Remy strode to the door, jiggling his pocket in search of his car keys. He turned, distractedly, looking around the apartment. "Where's my phone?" he muttered mostly to himself.

"Uh, it's in your hand," Bobby said, pointing.

"Oh, right," Remy said looking at his phone as if seeing it for the first time. He opened the apartment door and walked out, closing it behind him. They all stared at the closed door. A few moments passed, then Remy reopened the door and stuck his head back into the room. "Thanks for de game. 'Night." He then shut the door again.

"What the heck," Bobby said, "was that all about?"

"But who can understand that gibberish he was speaking?" Jean-Paul said with a shrug. He began gathering the cards. "Though I think he might have said the word: 'funeral.'"

* * *

><p>Rogue was standing in the front yard staring at a clipboard. In her hand she held a pair of flags, one red and one blue. Several students began to cluster around her expectantly. Still others trailed out of the front door of The Jean Grey School for Higher Learning. They were soon followed by Frenzy, clad in her black uniform. When she left the shadow of the school building, she scowled up at the sky as if she could out-glare the sun. Iceman appeared from behind her, rubbing his eyes in the early morning light.<p>

"Ugh," he said as he approached the students gathered around Rogue.

Rogue glanced up from her lesson plans. "Rough night?" she asked, with a smile.

Iceman continued to rub his forehead. "Don't ever let Northstar talk you into Patron shots at one a.m.," he muttered in an undertone so the students couldn't overhear.

"And on a school night? For shame. Sounds like you aren't as young as you used t'be," Rogue said.

"I blame Gambit entirely. It's his fault for leaving the poker game early."

Rogue looked around and beckoned the last of the stragglers with a wave of her hand.

"Gather 'round y'all!" she announced and Iceman winced. "The name of the game is "Capture The Flag." Now we'll split into two teams-."

"Team captain!" shouted Quentin Quire as he fired his hand into the air.

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Quire, Ah'd like to finish my instructions..." she broke off and scanned the group. "Where's Marvel and Gambit?" she asked.

Frenzy responded with a shrug while Iceman methodically rubbed his temples and moaned.

Just then, Rachel appeared, her long coat flaring out behind her as she strode down the front stairs and onto the lawn. "Sorry," she said as she approached. "Am I late?"

Rogue looked at her watch. "Not as late as Gambit's about t'be."

"Oh, here," Rachel said, she extended a note towards Rogue. "That's why I was running behind. Message from the main office. Gambit's not coming."

Rogue took the note from Rachel's hand, a small frown on her face. Her eyes flicked over the piece of scrap paper. "'Family emergency'?" Rogue read.

Rachel nodded, extending her arms out to her sides. "He didn't give specifics," she said.

"He wouldn't," Rogue said flatly, folding the scrap of paper and shoving it into her clipboard. "They call and he comes a'runnin'."

"She says without a hint of irony," Frenzy muttered under her breath.

As Rogue's frown deepened, Iceman announced: "Oh, right...before the tequila, I vaguely remember something from last night."

"What's that?" Rogue asked, turning her attention back to Iceman.

"He said he was going to a funeral," Iceman replied, happy to provide some details to whatever it was that Gambit did when he wasn't being an X-Man.

Rogue looked taken aback. "A funeral...who's?" she asked with sudden concern.

"He didn't say," Iceman responded, now disappointed. "I mean, he might have, but I couldn't understand him. What with the gibberish and all..."

"Well, did he seem upset?"

Iceman considered this. "Hm, no, just his usual Gambit-y self. After just suffering a very slight stroke."

Rogue was about to respond when one of the ruder students spoke out. "Are we just going to stand here, or were you planning on teaching something today?"

Rogue shot Quentin Quire a glare while he pretended to take interest in a nearby tree.

"Here, Bobby," Rogue said, handing Iceman the clipboard and the pair of flags. "Ah've got it all written down. Why don't you take over."

"Me?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah, him?" retorted Frenzy.

"Try not to let things get out of hand," Rogue said quietly to Marvel Girl as she passed.

As Rogue departed, Iceman read over the class notes. "Okay, everyone. We're gonna do this thing..." he began weakly. He looked up at the students, who without their usual instructor, were preparing a mutiny against their new substitute. Iceman sensed the imminent rebellion. "Only there's a new challenge!" he added brightly, pointing skyward. "We're all going to play this game...in complete silence..."

"That's stupid!" said Quentin. "Let's just get this over with...I'll take you, you...no, not you, of course not you!" He jabbed his finger at his each of his fellow classmates in turn.

"Quentin..." Iceman whispered. "Psst, hey."

"And you...hm, maybe you can be an alternate."

Iceman crooked his finger at Quentin. "C'mere...I want to talk to you. That's it...come

a little closer."

Quentin rolled his eyes as Iceman draped a convivial arm over the younger mutant's shoulder. "I said you're supposed to be silent," Iceman whispered.

"Why?" Quentin asked loudly. "I don't see the-."

"Shhhhhh..." Iceman mashed a finger against the boy's lips. "Because. Children

shouldn't be seen or heard, that's why."

"It's 'should be seen and not heard,'" Quentin said, pushing Iceman's hand away.

"In your case, we're making an exception. Now take one of these flags and plant it before I plant you. And don't say another word."

* * *

><p>Remy wasn't answering her calls, nor did he answer the intercom when she buzzed his apartment. Rogue slipped in the apartment building after volunteering to hold the door for a frazzled woman who had three excitable Dachshunds on leashes. She rode up the elevator with the woman and her dogs for a few floors, then continued alone to the top floor while eyeing the puddle of dog urine that had been left behind.<p>

She supposed Remy could be gone by now, but since she'd come all this way, she might as well try to catch him. She knocked on Remy's apartment door. She didn't really expect him to answer so she was startled when the door was yanked open.

He stood there in his bare feet and the rumpled clothes she'd seen him in yesterday, a dwindling cigarette hanging from his lip.

"You're smoking again?" she blurted out, caught off-guard for a moment.

He stepped back from the door and removed a second cigarette from a mostly-empty pack as she stepped into his apartment. He lit the second cigarette with the glowing end of his first, then tossed the butt into a highball glass containing melting ice and other spent cigarettes.

"Ah thought you'd quit?" she asked as he walked to the couch. His laptop was open on the coffee table and he slouched in front of it. He replied with a shrug, then jabbed a key on the laptop repeatedly with his forefinger. He squinted at the screen through the haze of blue smoke.

"Damn flight delays," he groused at the airline website.

Rogue looked around the apartment. She'd never been inside before, and wasn't sure what she was expecting. She spotted a second glass full of soggy cigarette filters and a sludge of ash at the bottom. "Well, it smells like a pool hall in here," she said, walking over to the window and urging it open a crack. She gathered the two dirty glasses and took them to the kitchen area, pitching the contents into the trashcan. "You're gonna make yourself sick," she remarked.

Remy slapped his laptop closed and stalked into the bedroom. Rogue followed. "Ah got your message, is everything all right? Bobby said you were going to a funeral."

"Bobby should learn to keep his mouth shut," Remy responded. He had two travel bags on his bed. He walked over to his closet and removed a black jacket from its hanger.

"Ah'm sorry t'hear about your loss. Is it...were you very close?" Rogue asked.

Remy shook his head distractedly, stuffing the jacket into a garment bag. "Tante Mattie," he finally answered.

Rogue felt tears prick her eyes and dread she'd first felt when Bobby mentioned a funeral settled into her gut. "Ah'm so sorry, sugah," she said. "Ah know how special she was t'you. And t'me, only that Ah knew her just a short time and...is there anything Ah can do?"

"Well, here's de t'ing," Remy said, taking a final drag on his cigarette while refusing to look at her. "Not everything in my life has t'do wit' you. And you've all ready made it perfectly clear that y'want nothin' t'do with me and the same goes for my family too. So what you can do, is stay out of it."

Rogue sucked in a breath and blinked away her tears. "Now, look, Remy," she said gently. "Ah know you're hurtin,' and Ah understand what you're goin' through. But y'don't have t'bite mah head off. Ah don't want you having t'come back later feeling like you have t'apologize-."

"I'm done apologizin' to you," he snapped. "Waste of breath."

"Ah came here to see if Ah could help you," she persisted.

"Y'came to feel self-important and good about yourself. It's not anything t'do with me." he said, struggling to zip his carry-on bag while holding a cigarette in one hand. He stabbed the cigarette back into his mouth with a shower of ash. "Well, I don't have time t'stroke your ego," he said around the cigarette. The bag still refused zip. "Dammit all anyhow!"

Rogue pulled the bag from his hands and zipped it shut. "There now-," she began just as he turned and stormed into the bathroom. The door slammed shut behind him and there was a sudden sound of breaking glass.

"Remy?" Rogue quickly walked to the door and was about to turn the knob when she heard the unmistakable sound of Remy being sick. She leaned her forehead against the door. After she heard the toilet flush, she called again. "Are you all right?"

She heard a groan from the vicinity of the bathroom floor. She crouched beside the closed door. "Are you hurt?"

"I'll be fine," his voice rang hollow from inside the bathroom. There was a long pause before he spoke again. "You were right. About gettin' sick. Also the apology part. I'm not myself."

"That's fine, sugah," she said, standing up. "You get a free pass for today."

"I'll need some time...A week. T'settle her affairs. Since no one can find Jean-Luc, it falls t'me."

"Take all the time you need. Are y'sure you don't want some help?"

"I can handle it."

"But you don't have to, not alone," she replied.

"It'd be easier...if it weren't you askin'," he finally answered through the door. "I'll call you. Wit' the hours for de services. If you want t'pay your respects. I'm sure Mattie would..."

She waited for several moments, but he didn't finish his thought. "Ah'll talk to you soon, then. All right...? Don't make me worry after you."

She took his silence as confirmation and turned to leave.

* * *

><p>Cecelia Reyes showed no surprise when Remy showed up at her door. "What happened?" she asked without preamble, looking at the bloody dishrag tied around his left hand.<p>

He walked into her offices as if he were on a stroll through the park. "Had a run in with my reflection."

"Well, let's see it then," she said, taking his hand and opening his makeshift bandage. "Why didn't you go to the hospital, or have Hank patch you up?"

"No time. I have a flight to catch. Can I impose on you?"

Cecelia let out a belabored sigh. "Sit down," she said, pointing to the exam table. "Most of these are superficial," she said, looking at his damaged hand. "This one will need a few sutures though. I hope you're right-handed."

"Might be a lefty," he replied.

"You want to tell me why you're putting your hand through mirrors?" Cecelia asked as she gathered supplies from a nearby closet.

"Bad hair day."

"Wrong answer. Would you like to play again?"

"Depends on de prize," he asked, watching as she began to clean his cuts.

"How about me not calling Xavier and telling him about this."

Remy considered a moment. "Sounds like a pretty good prize. Can I see what's behind door number two? Owww!"

"Hold still. Have you been taking the medication?" she asked.

"Are you a real doctor, or do you just play one on TV?"

"Answer. The question," Cecelia said slowly, staring him in the eyes.

"Yes, yes! All right! I am!" Remy retrieved his hand from her grip. "Dieu, you're scary."

She applied several butterfly closures to the rest of his wounds. "Let me wrap that."

"It's fine."

"You're not getting on a plane looking like Frankenstein's monster," she said, returning with gauze and an amber bottle. "Take these too."

Remy reluctantly took the bottle. "What's dese for now?"

"To keep you calm." He opened his mouth to protest and quickly snapped it shut when he saw the look on her face. "You're practically vibrating off the table," she observed.

"That could have interesting implications," he smiled.

"All right, you're done," she told him, pointing at the door. "And I don't want to see you on this table again."

"We do have to quit meeting up like dis."

"And you'll call me if you start feeling like punching yourself in the face again."

He hopped down off the table and walked towards the door. "As soon as you start working on your bedside manner. I can't take any more abuse."

"I mean it, Remy."

"I don't doubt it, chere," he said as he stepped through her door. "That's what I like about you. I never doubt anything you say."

* * *

><p>Remy was walking along one of the ruts that made up the drive leading to the cabin. In spite of the heat and humidity, he was wearing an Army-green canvas jacket over his travel-worn shirt. He carried a few broken down cardboard boxes under one arm. His other hand was bandaged, but bleeding.<p>

He finally made it to the top of the driveway. He stood and surveyed Tante Mattie's homestead. It was a century-old cabin set back in a field. Lake Pontchartrain sparkled in the sun behind it. There was a small shed with a chicken coop, a hand pump, and a white nanny goat tied by a chain to a tractor tire.

He set the boxes down on the front porch and walked over to the goat, which bleated at him and wagged it's tail.

"You're one lucky goat," he told her. "Figured the gators would've got you by now." He scratched the goat's knobbly head and unhooked her chain. "Let's fix you up with some water."

Walking over to the shed, he scattered several fat red hens that were pecking about in the grass. He overturned the droppings-encrusted automatic waterer with the toe of his boot. Gingerly lifting it by the handle he dragged it over to the water pump, rinsed it, and refilled it. The goat patiently followed behind. Back at the shed he heaved open the door, which dragged a half-moon shape in the dirt. The galvanized can that held the chicken feed was empty, save for some droppings at the bottom.

"Rats," he said morosely. He hated them.

He looked up into the rafters above, where the small bales of alfalfa were stored for the goat. There was one bale left. He heaved the step-stool over and climbed up. Grabbing the twine binding, he yanked the bale towards himself. Suddenly, he found himself him face to face with a hissing, pale-faced, jaggedy-toothed, multi-eyed monster which clung to the top of the bale.

With a shout, he stumbled backwards down the step ladder, windmilling his arms as he spilled out into the yard. The hens flapped away, clucking in a panic. After the initial fright, Remy began slapping dust and straw from his clothes. He slowly approached the shed and reached for the metal rake kept just inside the door. He used it to poke the teetering bale back into place. The female opossum on top of it responded by hissing. The small babies clinging to her back echoed her. He backed out of the shed and pushed the door shut.

"Pretend you didn't see dat," he told the goat. The goat stared at him with its strange, square pupils.

"Neh," it said.

He decided to give up animal care as a bad job and head over to the house. Once on the front porch, he opened the creaking screen door and pushed the front door inward. Hesitating a moment, he stepped into the dim interior. The first thing that hit him was the smell.

For an instant, he felt a moment's spinning panic that somehow Tante Mattie was still here, in the house, and dead. He blinked away the spots that danced before his eyes. When his vision cleared, he saw that the smell was from a plate of spoiled food left on the kitchen table. Flies buzzed around the abandoned plate, left sitting with a knife and fork and napkin. The table and chairs had been pushed aside, as was the trunk that served as a coffee table. The braided rag rug was rolled up, revealing the worn wood floor which was covered with muddy footprints leading in out of the house.

Remy walked to the table, picked up the plate, and pitched its rotting contents into the garbage kept outside the back door. He heaved open all the windows, climbed up into the loft, and opened the vents on either end of the house. When the floor was swept and mopped, he pulled the furniture back into place. It occurred to him that he should clean out the pantry in case there was other spoiled food. The goat bleated at him through the screen door, which gave him an idea.

He was staring at a dented can and wondering if goats ate candied yams when he heard the crunch of tires on gravel from outside. Seeing as how his father Jean-Luc had largely kept the city and local contractors away from Mattie's property through bribery, coercion, and outright threats, it was unusual to have visitors. Mattie took care of anyone else who thought to bother a single elderly woman living alone with novelty skulls, a hodge podge of voodoo paraphernalia, and a goat which she occasionally painted runes on with fake blood. He walked over to the front window and peered out. Two men were descending from a white truck. One had a surveyor scope, the other a walking measure. His lip curled. The vultures were all ready circling.

Remy walked back to the pantry, reached to the uppermost shelf, and pulled down a shotgun. He checked to be sure it was loaded. Okay, if bribes and witchcraft didn't work, he could always play the angry redneck card.

The two men were conferring together when Remy stepped onto the front porch. "Hey!" he shouted, shouldering the shotgun. The pair jerked to attention. One of them dropped his clipboard. "Git offa mah property!" he drawled.

The man who had just lost his clipboard held up his hands in surrender. "Whoa, hey!" he said. "I'm sorry...Mr...uhm. We're from -."

"I don't care where y'all come from, but I'll send ya straight t'hell if'n ya don't git!"

"We weren't aware there was anyone left on the premises, sir," said the other man. "We're only here to survey the property to make the appraisal. We'll be gone in no time."

"Whoever told you t'come here?" Remy asked, switching his sights to the second man.

The first man retrieved his clipboard from the dirt. "Uhm, ugh...Mr. LeBeau?" he answered.

"I'm Mr. LeBeau, and I didn't give nobody no permission to be here, now get lost!"

The two men looked at each other for a moment when Remy fired the shotgun into the air. They beat a hasty retreat to their vehicle, reversed it into the yard as chickens scattered, and sped back up the rutted driveway. Remy sighed and lowered the shotgun. When he was certain they were gone, leaving nothing but a rising trail of dust, he went back inside. The goat was nosing through the trash bag he'd set beside the pantry door. He set the gun beside the front door, removed a bruised pear from the bowl on the counter, and handed it to the goat.

"Neh," it said, and wagged its tail.

Remy looked around the small one-room cabin. Mattie didn't own very much, but at the moment, taking down all her cookware, her family photos, her books, and the other items collected over a century-plus-long lifetime seemed too daunting. He sat himself on the threadbare sofa and leaned his head back against the wall. Even though the cabin was hot and close he pulled the nearby quilt over his lap. His hand hurt. He fished several pills from inside his jacket pockets and swallowed them dry. There was blood on the bandages that Cecelia had wrapped his hand in. He thought he probably popped the stitches she'd put in when he'd punched his cousin Theo in the face. To be perfectly honest, he didn't remember punching Theo. Only he was never perfectly honest, so he chose to overlook this memory lapse for the time being.

He hadn't been back home for an hour before Theo had started in on him, spouting off about how it was just like Remy to show up after all the heavy lifting was done. Then some stuff about loyalty, respect, responsibility, and how Remy scored in all of these categories. Not very well, apparently. The next thing Remy recalled was Theo laying on the carpet with a mouthful of bloody teeth. Remy was out the door and driving away in Genard's beater pickup truck, which of course Remy had stolen from the driveway. How he'd arrived back at Tante Mattie's house was something of a mystery to him, but it was always a refuge before and his subconscious must have guided him back to her door.

On top of everything else, the airline had lost his luggage.

He realized he must have dozed off for a bit when the sound of the screen door slamming shut startled him awake. He lifted his head to see the goat had pushed its way outside. Remy could hear the sounds of a motor in the distance getting closer every second. He pulled himself upright and retrieved the shotgun. He felt as if he were walking through water. Or if everything he was experiencing was just a dream. Once out on the front porch he felt that he had to sit down. He put his hand on top of his head to keep it from floating away. When he saw the vehicle, he knew he must be dreaming. It was a familiar black truck with out of state license plates. When it pulled up to the rickety picket fence, he let his hand drop and his hoped his thoughts wouldn't scatter like the frightened chickens.

* * *

><p>"Does anyone hear banjo music?" Bobby asked, peering out the passenger side window of Logan's truck. "Where are you taking us? This is like, Deliverance country out here."<p>

Logan folded the piece of paper with the directions and the crudely-drawn map with one hand, while steering with the other. "She said he'd be here," he responded, shoving the map into the center console while keeping his eyes on the driveway before them. When the small wooden shack appeared before them he slowed the truck to a halt. "And look, she was right."

Logan and Bobby peered through the dusty windscreen at the sight before them. There was an ancient shack surrounded by a rough picket fence. The fence was decorated with stacks of skulls and what appeared to be shrunken heads. The yard was full of chickens. Bits of string and wind-chimes made of shells hung limply from the eaves of the porch. And Gambit was sitting on that front porch with a shotgun across his knees. Also there was a goat.

"Looks like the right place," Logan said and stepped out of the truck. When he slammed the door shut Bobby was caught with a blast of hot, humid air. The truck cab immediately began to grow increasingly hot.

"Open the damn door all ready," shouted a voice from the backseat of the truck. Bobby turned to look at Joanna, who was crammed into the rear of the extended cab. She raised a hand and flicked him between the eyes.

"Ow, jeez!" Bobby said, flinging open the door and dropping to the ground. He sucked in lung-fulls of hot air and exhaled. "In the name of all that's holy. It is hotter than hell out here!"

Joanna hopped down from the truck and slammed the doors.

"No wait," Bobby said, pawing at the door handle, "let me back in. Let me try to remember what air conditioning feels like." Joanna shoved him so he turned back around and practically frog-marched him towards the front of the truck.

Logan was standing in front of the fence. Remy was staring back at him with a stunned look on his face.

"You plannin' on shootin' us?" Logan called.

Remy looked down at the shotgun. He set it down and slowly stood. "What are you doing here?" Remy finally asked.

"Rogue volun-told me to come," Bobby answered, he jerked his thumb behind him at Joanna. "And she's on unpaid administrative leave."

Remy descended the steps and approached the fence. "What? Why?"

"For punching a student," Logan answered.

"Through a window," Bobby added.

Remy blinked at Bobby.

"A second story window," he amended.

Remy turned and looked at Joanna with a frown.

"Little punk had it coming," she muttered.

Remy shook his head slowly. "Well, that still doesn't tell me why you're here."

"Rogue said you'd need help. Figure the work'd go quicker if you had some extra hands," Logan replied.

"What-no..." Remy said, waving them back. "I don't..."

"Just point us at what needs doing and we'll do it," Logan continued.

Still maintaining his stunned expression, Remy turned and wandered back toward the house. Bobby and Joanna exchanged a glance as Logan followed.

"Can't believe you drove all the way here..." Remy was saying.

"Yeah, me neither," Bobby said. "Believe me, it was no picnic. Joanna's super-strength is counter-balanced by a super-weak bladder. Seriously, we had to stop every twenty miles!"

Knowing she was about to punch him, Bobby instinctively ducked. She kicked him instead.

Remy and Logan disappeared into the house. Bobby stepped up onto the porch keeping a wide berth between himself and the goat. He walked through the front door and into the dim interior and came to an abrupt halt. "Seriously! It's even hotter in here!" Joanna crashed into him from behind and they both stumbled inside.

"Smells like something died in here," Joanna griped, crinkling her nose.

Remy turned around very slowly to regard her. "Or someone, you mean?"

"Geez, Joanna, do you have chronic foot-in-mouth disease?" Bobby asked.

Apparently unembarrassed by her faux-pas, Joanna continued: "Someone actually lived in this dump? Is there even electricity?"

Remy shook his head slowly.

"Running water?"

He pointed to a pump set into a soapstone sink.

"A bathroom?"

His finger moved to point out the back door to an outhouse. Joanna gaped at him. Then her expression grew grim and she marched past him towards the back door.

"There's a broomstick handle in front of de door," he told her back. "If you hit de door wit' it a few times, it should scare de snakes away."

Joanna paused to turn and look at him for a long moment. Realizing he was serious, her face turned a different shade of red...almost puce.

"And don't forget to put lime down when you're done...'cause of de raccoons," Remy concluded. He turned back to Logan and Bobby when the door slammed shut.

"So what's with the goat?" Bobby asked.

"She was helping me clean out de pantry," Remy explained, as if that made any sense.

"Bobby can help finish with that," Logan said. "Anything else?"

"I dunno," Remy said, looking around the room absently. "Well, dere's de icebox, too."

"Icebox," Bobby said. "I like the sound of that. Point me to it."

Remy pointed to a cabinet with double doors that stood next to the pantry.

"How about we pack everything in boxes and you can decide what to keep later?" Logan prompted.

Remy nodded slowly. "Okay, sounds like a plan."

There was a stack of newspapers beside the hearth of a stone fireplace. Logan collected the papers. He began removing items from shelves and wrapping them. There was an odd assortment of plates and cups, nothing that matched.

"Tante didn't have very much," Remy said, almost apologetically, as Logan removed the various items and set them onto the butcher block counter. "Most of what she had was stuff she needed. She gave everything else away."

Bobby walked over to the icebox and opened the doors. "Well, there's no ice," he said. It was still slightly cool though so he stuck his head inside. He studied the contents, most of which sat in various states between frozen and thaw. "Should we eat any of this before it goes bad?" he asked.

Remy paused in the re-construction of a cardboard box. "Tante was plenty good at a lot of t'ings," he said, "but cooking wasn't one of dem. She just put together whatever people gave her. I recall some sort of dish with green beans in it once. The memory of it is enough to make me weep."

"Did it look like this?" Bobby asked, pulling the foil off the top of a casserole dish.

Remy regarded it with a look of horror, then abruptly sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. There was a soft thump as his forehead hit the tabletop.

"Okay, so ...toss?" Bobby was asking when Joanna returned. She was waving her arms around her head in a panicked sort of way.

"What is the matter with you?" Logan said, as Joanna flailed about.

She stopped and wiped her face. "There was a spider web," she answered angrily. She looked at Remy, who was still laying face down on the table. "What the hell? What's wrong with you?" she said. "Get up. An angry Gambit, I can handle."

"Madbit," Bobby said as he pulled things from the icebox and dumped them into the trash.

"I can even tolerate a happy Gambit," Joanna continued.

"Gladbit," Bobby supplied.

"But I am not going to deal with a miserable Gambit," she concluded.

"...Sadbit."

"Thirteen hours of this...," Logan began. "Joanna go clear those bookshelves."

Joanna stomped over to the shelves, dragging the box Remy had assembled behind her.

"What's up here?" Logan asked while pointing to the loft. He put his foot to the first step of the ladder leading upwards.

Remy looked up. "Bunch of junk," he answered.

"You want me to pull it down?" Logan asked, testing the tread which creaked ominously under his foot. "Or maybe not."

"Nah, it's fine," Remy waved him off. "It's mostly my junk."

Joanna flipped through one of Tante Mattie's books. "What is this, some kind of spell book? Was your old auntie some kind of witch?"

"No, she was a - an, ah-achoo!" Remy sneezed compulsively. He sneezed several more times and began to cough. "I need some air," he said as he fled through the back door.

"Just put it away," Logan said roughly. Joanna made a face and unceremoniously dropped the book into the box. Logan opened the trunk that sat in the center of the floor. There was a collection of books and blankets inside. There was a package wrapped in brown paper amidst the clutter. He slammed the trunk shut as Remy re-entered the cabin. Remy was dragging his sleeve across his eyes.

"I'll take this out to the truck," Logan said, and Remy wordlessly nodded. Logan hefted the trunk onto his shoulder and walked out the front door.

"Allergies?" Bobby asked.

"Sure," Remy responded.

"Look what I found," Joanna sang. "Widdle Wemy's baby pictures!"

Bobby immediately dropped what he was doing. "Oo, I want to see."

Remy groaned.

Joanna held out a photograph of an stout African American woman holding an infant that was unmistakably Remy.

"Aw, look how cute!" Bobby said.

"Look how small," Joanna snickered.

Remy rolled his eyes. "Hilarious."

"Why Remy," Joanna said. "Nothing to be embarrassed about. I mean, I can remember the first time I saw you sitting naked in a woman's lap."

"Whoa, Joanna. Over-sharing," Bobby said, returning to his chore.

Logan returned, slamming the screen door shut before the goat could sneak back in.

"If I remember correctly, it was Candra's, wasn't it?" Joanna continued snidely.

"What's Candra's?" Logan asked.

Joanna smiled. "Didn't Remy ever tell you about how we met? How we both worked under Candra back in the day? Well, Remy did most of the work under her, and over her."

"T.M.I.!" Bobby shouted.

"I wish you wouldn't talk about that," Remy said tersely.

"Those were the days. When the job went good, Candra and Remy went at it like a couple of bunny rabbits. When jobs went bad, well, she just beat the holy hell out of him. Both were fun to watch."

"La la la la la!" said Bobby with his hands over his ears. "I can't hear you!"

"Joanna, that's enough," Logan said, slicing his hand through the air.

"Don't you want to find out how your pal here...that we drove all this way to see...royally screwed me in every sense of the word?" Joanna asked loudly, extending her arms out to her sides. "That he used me in one of his stupid little games with Candra where they both competed for the title of World's Biggest Asshole?"

"This ain't the time or the place," Logan snapped.

Remy was shaking his head, eyes closed. "No, dat's fine," he put up his hand to stop Logan from speaking. "It's fine. Joanna, if I haven't said so before, I'm sorry. I don't have any excuse for what I did. I'm sorry your feelings were hurt when you got caught between Candra and me. It was a mistake."

Joanna just seemed to grow angrier. "I don't want your apology! I don't need it! I don't need you crawling to me on your belly like some worthless dog! Why don't you stand up for yourself, you pathetic idiot! Don't you have any pride at all?"

"Is it pride what keeps you from apologizin' for all the stuff you've done?" Remy asked her. "'Cause you don't seem to live like you've got any regrets."

"Don't you dare throw this back on me!" Joanna snapped.

"Let me tell you something you don't know about me, Joanna," Remy added calmly. "That I, more than anyone, want you to succeed as an X-Man. That I want it so bad for you. Now I've put my chips down on you, and you'd better not cost me de pot. I've got my eye on you, believe dat," he pointed at her. "I don't want you t'mess up like I did, but I'm ready if you do. And I'd be happy to hear you say you were sorry for somethin' and just as happy to forgive you. But if you ever hurt another kid again, I will put ..you ..down. That's a promise, and I make no apologies for that."

"You think you-." Joanna began, but she was cut off when Logan seized her arm.

"Drop it!" he commanded.

They were interrupted by the sound of a car door slamming.

"Now what?" Bobby asked.

Remy peered out the window and cursed. He seized the shotgun, but Logan quickly wrested it from his grip. Remy released it with his hands raised in surrender and stepped back from Logan, then slammed himself through the screen door. Bobby joined Logan at the door and peered out. A sheriff's cruiser was parked in the drive. Remy stood on the porch staring down at the man who stepped from the vehicle. The man was dressed in a sheriff's uniform and a wide-brimmed hat. He was of average height and build with a heavy lantern jaw. His eyes were shielded by mirrored sunglasses. A German Shepherd stuck its head out the back window of the vehicle, panting in the heat.

The sheriff walked up to the fence line and stared back at Remy.

"Remy LeBeau," he said finally and then spat.

"What do you want?" Remy said in reply, his tone defiant.

The sheriff sneered at him. "I'm here t'do my duty as an officer and hand you this here eviction notice," he replied. He extended his arm. A piece of yellow paper was held between his fore and middle fingers.

Remy strode down the steps and across the lawn. Before he could take the paper, the sheriff let it drop, and it fluttered to the ground.

"You can't evict me," Remy said, now standing a foot from the sheriff. "Dis here is my house. I'm de executor of Matilde Baptiste's estate."

"Heh," the sheriff said, surveying the property. "Some estate."

"Dis property is worth plenty," Remy snapped.

"Yeah, and I'm sure the developers that now own it payed dearly."

"It ain't for sale," Remy said quietly.

"No, on account of it's sold all ready," the sheriff was enjoying himself.

"We had a deal-," Remy began.

"A deal?" The sheriff spoke incredulously. "Wrong, you punk. The deal I had was with your daddy. I don't make deals with filthy mutie trash such as yourself."

Logan, Bobby, and Joanna were all gathered on the porch. When Joanna heard the epithet, she began to charge down the steps. Logan seized her arm to stop her. The sheriff looked over at the trio with a smug smile then turned back to Remy. "Go ahead, LeBeau. Gimme one excuse to take you or one of your freak friends in. Your poppa's not here to save your ass anymore, or that old nigger witch."

"Wow, way to embody a stereotype," Bobby said, clapping slowly. "Really, that's top notch racism."

The sheriff just shook his head. "They might tolerate you freaks in the city, but out here we do things more traditional. I suggest you get yourself gone, LeBeau." With that, the sheriff turned and walked back to his cruiser.

Joanna broke herself free from Logan's grip and began to follow when Remy spoke up. "That's a fine lookin' dog you got dere, Sheriff Pollard. He got a name?"

The sheriff paused and turned to look back at Remy. He grinned maliciously. "Why thank you. He goes by Rothko," He gave the dog a signal and it leaped from the back of the vehicle. "He's got himself a taste for freaks, don't you boy?" He nudged the dog's shoulder with his knee.

"He looks hungry," Remy said conversationally. "Hey, boy. Hey Rothko, y'want a treat?"

"You're a damned stupid fool," the sheriff said.

"Here boy, who's a good boy den?" Remy said, crouching. The dog studied Remy and cocked his head.

"Uhm," Bobby said to Logan. "Is he doing what I think he's doing?"

"Oo's just a sweet widdle puddy dawg den?" Remy said.

"Yup," Logan answered.

The sheriff pointed and Rothko sprung forward. He came towards Remy in one short bound, then threw himself down onto his forequarters. Hindquarters in the air, the dog wagged his tail and barked excitedly. Remy playfully boxed the dog's head and ruffled his fur while praising the him in baby talk.

"Rothko!" the sheriff barked. "Get back here, you stupid!"

"Does Rothko want a treat? Does he?" Remy said, as the dog gleefully licked his face.

The sheriff stalked over angrily and gave the dog a kick in the hindquarters. In an instant, the dog turned with a snarl and sank his teeth into the sheriff's leg just below the knee. The sheriff screamed and fell backwards as the dog released the leg and lunged for the sheriff's arm.

Remy whistled and the dog jumped back, turned, and ran to Remy's side where it sat and stared at the sheriff.

The sheriff was cursing and reaching for his gun. "You goddamned dog!" he screamed.  
>"I can't abide the mistreatment of harmless animals," Remy said to him.<p>

The sheriff scrambled to his feet. "You freak sonofabitch!" he screamed as he backed away towards his vehicle. "You get off this property and get the hell out of town! Don't ever show your face around here again!"

"Sure, I'd be happy to watch after Rothko for awhile," Remy said with a wave. "You have yourself a pleasant day, officer!"

_(Next time: Iceman & Frenzy get a lesson in Thief culture)_


	2. Used To Be

_You are coming home  
>Are you still alone<br>Are you not the same as you used to be  
>As the sun grows high<br>And you serve your time  
>Does each day just feel like another lie<br>Are you not the same as you used to be?  
>Used to be<em>  
>-Used To Be, Beach House<p>

"I don't see why I have ride in the back with the stupid dog," Joanna griped.

"You didn't call 'shotgun,'" Remy answered and turned to look back at her and Bobby. "And he's not stupid. He's a smart boy, isn't he?"

The dog licked Remy's face.

"Gross," Joanna hunched back into the seat and folded her arms.

Bobby asked in a deadpan voice: "You can charm animals?"

Remy considered this a moment. "Hm, no, not all animals. Just the domesticated kinds what understand humans a bit. Not cats though. Never could get a cat t'do what I wanted it to."

"Sheriff seemed t'have a bone t'pick with you," Logan remarked.

"A more wretched man never drew breath," Remy said.

"How did you get on his bad side?" Logan asked.

"Pollard ain't got no other side but bad. And I didn't do nothing. That man and his cronies would pick up any thief child they could lay hands on. Then hold 'em for ransom 'til the parents paid up. Sometimes the kids would come back in one piece."

He let this sink in for a moment before adding: "Never got a hold a'me though, but not for lack of trying. He'd have _loved_ to have somethin' over Jean-Luc. Made him mad my father had more pull than he did."

They were driving away from the cabin and the lake, back towards the city. They passed numerous derelict homes left vacant by storms. Every once in awhile, a house would appear to be inhabited, conspicuous amidst the surrounding devastation. Eventually, they came to neighborhoods that appeared more prosperous. Soon they were within the city and looking at the gated houses of a more charming district. Remy directed them to a large white home set behind a wrought-iron gate. The house was beautiful in the late-afternoon light, flanked by live oak trees and drooping Spanish moss. Logan drove his truck up the curving drive towards the front door. On closer inspection, the dazzling light had masked the slight decay that had overtaken the facade. The paint was peeling, the shutters sagged.

"Go up towards the back," Remy said. "We don't use the front door."

"Is this your family's house?" Bobby asked.

"They're here all right," Remy said as Logan parked. The rear of the house was a mess of overgrown grass and brush. There was a moss-covered patio with a fountain set in the center full of stagnant water. Light spilled from a set of French doors onto the patio. Through the window, they could see a woman moving around in the kitchen.

"I can't imagine what they must be like," Joanna said. "Like several versions of you in one house. I don't think I can stand it."

"Oh no," Remy said. "I ain't nothin' like any of them. Something they pointed out to me quite often, in fact. Aren't you in for a treat."

"Gird your loins, folks," Bobby said as they disembarked from Logan's truck.

Remy walked to the doors and entered the kitchen. The blond woman was standing at the kitchen counter island dicing onions. Piles of diced celery and red peppers were mounded up on the counter beside her. She looked up from her work and rubbed tears from her eyes. The smell of raw onions was potent.

"Where de _hell_ have you been?" she asked.

"Hey, Mercy," Remy responded. "Just over at Tante Mattie's."

She opened her mouth to respond then spotted the three people behind him. "And you've brought-guests?" Her expression was perplexed.

Remy gestured to the trio as they entered. "Dis is Logan and Bobby and Joanna. Y'all, this is my sister-in-law, Mercy. Her charms are far more...obvious, than mine. Mercy, don't you own a _whole_ shirt?"

Mercy held her knife over the chopping block. Her blue eyes were very round. "It's not like I was expecting company. You brought... people... here? Are you insane?"

"Now, if we're imposing...," Logan began, raising his hands.

"_Pas de tout_!" Remy announced. "It's my home after all. You're perfectly welcome. Don't let Mercy give you the wrong impression on what southern hospitality is all about. Have a seat, make yourself at home. Let me get you somethin' t'drink."

Mercy was opening and closing her mouth like a beached fish. Finally she blurt out: "Where did that dog come from?"

"Good breeding stock if I'd guess," Remy responded, pulling open the refrigerator. "What'll y'all have? Sweet tea? Coke? Somethin' stronger?"

"_Aaaawk_-ward," Bobby said quietly.

"Hope we haven't kept Remy too long," Logan told the woman. "We were just cleaning out some stuff. Had a bit of a run-in with one of your lawmen."

Mercy continued to eyeball the dog, who had made himself at home under the kitchen table. She pointed at it with the knife, spraying the floor with bits of vegetable. "Dat dog looks like one of Pollard's."

"Might be," Remy said, putting a pitcher of iced tea down in the center of the kitchen table.

Mercy set down the knife and put her hands on the counter as if to draw strength from the marble top. "Dis might be a new record for you, Remy. The most amount of trouble you can get yourself in to in the shortest amount of time!"

"I bet I can beat it," Remy responded, collecting glasses from an upper cabinet.

"I don't have time for your nonsense, Remy!" Mercy said. "Just like I don't have time to cook and clean before the calling hours tomorrow. Or time to take Theo to the hospital after you broke his face because if you'd forgotten, our _traiteur_ is dead!"

Remy was about to respond when a voice called from the gloom of the connecting hall. "Have Mercy, Mercy! Yellin' loud enough to wake de dead."

Everyone turned to see a youngish man with reddish-blond hair leaning up against the wall with his arms folded. He was somewhat short, with freckled skin and a ready grin.

"God give me strength," Mercy said.

"And look," the man continued. "We have guests! How..._unusual_! Cousin, why don't you introduce me to your friends, especially dis one." The man pushed himself from the wall and strode over to Joanna. "_Enchante, ma doucette_," he said, taking her hand.

Joanna snatched her hand away before he could bring it to his lips. "What did you just call me?" she asked in a deadly quiet voice.

The man smiled wolfishly at her. "Why, I'll call you whatever you like, _mademoiselle_. I go by Emil. You'll want to remember it. For when you're callin' it out later."

Bobby took one large step back from Joanna. Logan tensed as Joanna's mouth slowly opened.

"Ha!" she laughed. "I didn't think it was possible, but you're worse than Gambit."

"Accept no imitations. It was I what taught my cousin everything he knows," responded Emil.

"Must've taken all of five minutes," Joanna quipped.

Emil laughed merrily and laid a companionable arm over Remy's shoulders. "I like dis one!" Emil said, pointing at Joanna. "Gives as good as she gets, I can tell. Not like that stick-in-de-mud weather witch or that skunk-haired prude you usually bring 'round."

Joanna was still grinning as she pulled out a chair and sat. Remy folded his arms and glared at his cousin.

Emil poked Remy in the ribs. "Lemme bum a smoke," he said.

"I quit," Remy said.

"Liar," said Emil, and Remy sighed and drew a flattened pack from his jacket.

"'S my last one," he pouted. Emil grinned and stuck the cigarette into his mouth.

"No smoking in de house," Mercy said, resuming her vegetable massacre. Bobby stared at her, enraptured. Joanna pulled him down into a chair by the back of his shirt.

"Gimme de keys t'your SUV," Remy told Emil. "I have t'go to de church to talk with Father Potier about de services."

"What happened to Genard's truck?" Emil asked.

"I might have parked it in a ditch," Remy explained.

"He's gonna be _pissed_," Emil said, delighted.

"Language," Mercy said, dispatching a pepper with extreme efficiency.

"So what else is new. Keys," he said to Emil, opening and closing his hand.

"_Mais non_. Not de way you've been popping those horse tranquilizers like they're Pez," Emil said. "What's in dese t'ings anyway?" An amber bottle had materialized in Emil's hand. He inspected the label. "Give you a good buzz?"

There was a split-second between the moment Remy realized his pocket had been picked and the moment when Emil was sprawled face down on the countertop. Vegetables scattered onto the floor.

"Stop it, you two!" Mercy cried. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!" she punctuated each exclamation with a stomp of her foot. Bobby gaped, his eyes absorbing every bounce. Joanna was howling with laughter. The two men struggled, Emil pleading and Remy snarling a stream of curses. It was Logan that descended on Remy, seizing him by the back of his coat and hauling him off Emil. Logan set Remy down on the opposite side of the room.

"Eh, Remy!" Emil said, rubbing the back of his neck. "What's de matter wit' you? Usually takes me at least an hour or two to wind you up."

"I'm having a bad day," Remy replied.

"You!" Mercy said, pointing her blade at Emil. "You're not completely useless...at least you can serve as a perfectly terrible example!"

"What did I do?" Emil asked innocently.

"No stealing from family!" Mercy barked.

"But, he-," Emil began, pointing at Remy.

"Be quiet! Now get out of here and take de children to their lessons!"

"Children?" Bobby asked. "What child-oh, hey...where did you come from?" He looked down to see two small girls of such a similar age they could be twins. They had seemingly appeared at Bobby's elbow from thin air. Their blue eyes were level with the tabletop and were staring at Bobby rapturously. He felt something repeatedly kicking his leg and peered under the table. The dog was lying on its back kicking its hind leg while another little girl scratched its belly enthusiastically. A fourth child, smaller than the others, was probing the dog's mouth with a forefinger. With their blue eyes, strawberry blond hair, and freckles, the paternity was not a question.

"These are _your_ kids?" Bobby asked Emil incredulously.

"Dat's what my wife tells me," Emil responded.

"_Your wife_?" Joanna snapped.

"I don't know why Marie-Therese hasn't smothered you in your sleep by now," Remy told his cousin.

"It's 'cause I make such beautiful babies!" Emil claimed, ducking behind the kitchen island and producing another smaller child, perhaps just one year old. He held her up by the back of her pink overalls. "Look at dis one! Not my best work, mind you-."

"Out," said Mercy with deadly malice.

"Okay, ducklings," Emil said cheerfully, putting the baby over his shoulder, "fall in line!"

The four girls padded silently after their father. The baby waved bye-bye from Emil's shoulder as they vanished from the room.

"Is he raising his own army?" Joanna asked.

"Prolific family," Remy answered. "Mercy-."

"No."

"But-."

"Nevermind, Gumbo. I'll drive you to see the priest," Logan said.

"_We can't stay here_," Bobby hissed at Logan.

"Remy says you can, so I guess that's that," Mercy said. "Pierce will have some rooms made up for you."

"Pears?" Bobby repeated.

"She said 'Peers'," Joanna said.

Someone cleared their throat and they turned to see a middle-aged man standing in the hall. "It's 'Pierce,' actually," said the man. "As in, 'with a knife.'"

"I would've gone with 'like _pierce_d ears,'" responded Bobby.

"As you wish, sir. And I have all ready prepared the guest rooms upon Mr. LeBeau's arrival. If you'd like to gather your things and follow me?" said Pierce.

"C'mon, Gambit, let's go," Logan said. He gestured to Bobby and Joanna. "You two are on your own with Pierce, here. I've reached my limit. Good luck, pal." He clapped Pierce on the shoulder, then turned and walked out the French doors.

Remy's shoulders slumped and he followed Logan, closing the doors behind him.

* * *

><p>They drove in blessed silence for some time, with Remy wordlessly pointing out turns and Logan driving. They were in a neighborhood of shotgun style houses. People sat on their front porches fanning themselves in the heat. Windows flickered with the blue glow of television sets.<p>

"Should I be worried about you?" Logan asked finally.

"No more'n usual."

"That bad, hunh?"

"This is it," Remy said and Logan pulled into a cracked blacktop parking lot alongside a small Catholic church. There was a a man waiting at the top of the steps leading to the transept of the church. The man detached himself from the shadow of the building and proceeded down the cement steps. Logan rolled down the driver's side window as the priest approached.

"Evening Father," Remy said.

"Remy. It's been awhile," said Father Potier. "So sorry we're meeting under these circumstances."

"Right. 'Cause the last time I saw you was such a joyous occasion."

"Oh yes. Wedding day. Not my best work," the priest responded.

The remark was too similar to Emil's joke from earlier. Logan looked at the priest. "Are the two of you related?" he pointed at the priest, then at Remy.

"Cousins," responded the priest. "And you're a friend of Remy's?"

"Sometimes," said Logan.

"Well will you warn me when you aren't? You don't look like someone I'd like to meet in a dark alley," said Father Potier.

"I have respect for a man of the cloth, Padre," said Logan.

"Even one by way of the Thieves' Guild?" the man smiled.

"You?" Logan said surprised.

"Some of us have a higher calling, don't we, Remy?"

"Mumble mumble," Remy said.

"Shall we discuss the services, then?" the priest asked.

Remy stepped out of the vehicle. "I won't be long," Remy told Logan. Logan nodded and Remy threw the door shut.

"Any hymn requests?" the priest asked Logan.

"I might be able to hum a few bars of 'Amazing Grace,'" Logan responded.

"Maybe we can convince Remy to gift us with a song? Enh, just like the good old days? Our own little devil with the voice of an angel?" the priest grinned. Remy came around to the driver's side of the vehicle with a frown on his face.

"What's this then?" Logan asked.

"Children's choir," the priest answered. "What Remy lacked in harmony he more than made up for with enthusiasm."

A slow smile spread across Logan's face.

Remy put himself into the driver's side window. "If you breathe a word to anyone...something will happen to you. I don't know what yet, but it won't be good."

"Speaking of which, would you like to make your Confession while you're here?" the priest asked Remy.

"Depends on how much time you have."

"Hah, good one." The priest took Remy's arm and they walked toward the church.

Logan leaned back against the seat and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed the first number in his contact list. "How's it going? Anything on fire?"

"Good news," Kitty responded. "Quire decided not to sue us this time! Joanna won't be able to participate in any extracurriculars anymore, but otherwise, we're all copacetic here."

"Well, that's a nice change of pace," Logan said.

"How's things in New Orleans?" Kitty asked.

"Hot and sticky."

"I'm assuming you're talking about the weather and not about Gambit," said Kitty. "Seriously, though, should we send flowers? Like from the school?"

"That might be a nice gesture," Logan said. "I'll forward you the address."

"What should we put on the card?"

Logan sighed. "I don't know, Kitty. Just come up with something. Is Rogue around?"

"I think I saw the light on in the teacher's lounge. Do you want me to try to ring her?"

"Sure," Logan said.

"Please hold while I transfer your call," Kitty said in a cool automated voice.

"Cute."

"_But you hold on for one more day...and break free from the chains...break free, break from the chaaaains..._" Kitty sang.

"Kitty!"

"Okay, I'm really going to transfer you this time."

Logan sighed again as the phone began to ring.

"This is Jean Grey School, Anna speaking," Rogue said.

"It's me," Logan said.

"Logan. Everything all right?"

"Everyone is a damn comedian," Logan said. "Kitty, Bobby, Gambit's obnoxious cousin... even the priest."

"Ah'm sure they're just trying to lighten the mood," Rogue responded. "Ah take it you found Remy okay?"

"Right where you said he'd be."

"Ah thought he might go there," Rogue said.

"He must've spent a lot of time at his aunt's house."

"The 'Tante' is an honorific," Rogue explained. "Everyone calls her 'Tante Mattie.' She's more like Remy's momma."

"You seem to know more what's goin' on here than me. Should be you here."

"I have a flight in to New Orleans tomorrow morning. I'll be there for the calling hours."

"Need me to pick you up?" Logan asked.

"Ah'll get a rental. Keep my distance. Ah got the impression Remy didn't want me around."

"Seems unusual."

"We'll see how he is tomorrow. Ah'll talk to you later," Rogue said and signed off.

Logan put his phone back into his pocket, slouched down in the driver's seat, and pulled his hat over his eyes. For the most part, it was quiet save for the occasional bark of a dog and the very distant wail of an ambulance siren. It wasn't long before Remy reappeared at the window.

"You shouldn't be sittin' here sleepin' in de truck," Remy said. "Dis ain't the best neighborhood."

"You think someone's likely to get the jump on me?" Logan asked, pushing up the brim of his hat.

"It's not you I'm worried about. I just don't want you maiming one of my relatives," Remy said. "If you go back t'de house, Mercy'll fix you up something t'eat. Her bark is worse than her bite, believe me."

"Where do you think you're going?" Logan asked as Remy began to walk away.

Remy didn't answer, but proceeded down to the sidewalk and continued walking. Logan started the truck and pulled out into the street. He idled alongside Remy and lowered the passenger side window.

"Get in the truck," he told Remy.

"I don't think I can go back," Remy responded.

"That's fine, I'll take you where you want to go."

"No, not to de house. Back to de school," Remy said, eyes forward. "It's not going to work out."

"What makes you say that?"

"Rogue and I had words," Remy answered.

"Forgiven and forgotten, Gumbo."

"I suppose there's a first time for everything," he muttered. "If I'd thought in a million years that she'd pick goin' to de school over _him_, I'd have stayed in Utopia and kissed Scott's ring and been glad t'do it. But I guess I don't know her as well as I thought, if I ever knew her at all."

Logan didn't need to ask who Remy was referring to, but it was news to him that Remy was trying to put distance between himself and Rogue. An entire country's distance, in fact. "I think you're being a bit melodramatic," Logan said.

"I'm sure it seems dat way t'you." Remy held up his hands to either side of his face, making blinders and narrowing his range of vision to the sidewalk directly ahead. "I wish I could see what de world looked like through someone else's eyes, just to get a gauge of how far off de mark I really am."

Logan didn't know what to make of this statement. "We can talk about this later. Just get in the truck."

"I need some time to think."

"You can think in the truck."

Remy stepped off the sidewalk towards the vehicle and Logan braked. "I can't go back to de house just yet," Remy said through the window.

"Where to then?"

"Home," Remy said.

* * *

><p>Pears or Peers or Pierce led them from the kitchen after they had gathered their bags. Bobby found that Slim Jims worked just as well as hypnotic charm on dogs and now found himself with a new four-legged best friend. Bobby and Joanna passed through a dim corridor and into a foyer, which must have been very grand once. The wood floors were now worn and scuffed, the wallpaper muted and buckled by hot New Orleans days, the carpets threadbare.<p>

"This is the sitting room," Pierce said, gesturing to the double doors to his left. "On your right is the study. You're welcome to use the library there during daylight hours."

They started up a curved staircase to the second story. The faces of young men posed in groups stared out at them from the framed photographs hung on the walls. Once on the landing, Pierce proceeded a short ways down the upstairs corridor and showed Joanna and Bobby to their rooms.

"So, Pierce," Joanna said. "What are you, some kind of thief butler?"

Pierce gave her a grim close-lipped smile. "Not exactly," he said. "I'm a sort of liaison...between the Guild and the... outside. I've been chosen to act as the go-between our world," he pointed to himself, "and yours. I arrange meetings with clients, talk to the city, pay the bills... I arrange the necessities with _Les Autres_."

"What?" Bobby asked blankly.

"_Les Autres_...the others, like yourselves."

"The Others? Heh, kind of like on LOST?" Bobby asked.

Pierce stared at him blankly for a moment. "Ah. Does that relate to some popular culture? Yes. I'm afraid your references will be lost on me, and anyone else in this household. We don't have televisions here or watch movies and what have you."

"No TV?" Bobby asked, stunned.

"I'm afraid not. This home serves as our...school. It doesn't do to have distractions," answered Pierce.

"Oh, yeah, sure," said Bobby, trying to picture what the students at Jean Grey School would do if they didn't have television. Probably start another riot.

"If you need anything at all or have any questions, please don't hesitate to ring the bell-pull at your bedside. We keep late hours here, so don't feel as if you're a bother. I ask that you keep to your rooms and the common areas, the sitting room, kitchen. Please don't go exploring. And above all, do not interfere with the schooling of our children."

"No...no problem at all!" said Bobby.

Pierce declined his head in gratitude and disappeared down the corridor.

"Weirdo," Bobby said.

"Creep," said Joanna.

Joanna tossed her belongings into her room and reappeared in the hall. "What are you doing?" Bobby asked as she hovered just outside his door. He set his things down onto the padded bench at the foot of his bed.

"Exploring," she responded. "I want to look at these creepy photos."

Bobby rejoined her in the hallway. He pushed the dog back into his room with his foot, closed the door, and stood next to Joanna at the first photo. The photographs were spaced evenly along each side of the corridor. In each one, a group of young men stood or sat in a group. They were all dressed peculiarly, in arcane clothing that seemed from the distant past. Each photograph was dated with an engraved plaque nailed to the frame.

"Must be class photos?" Bobby wondered aloud.

They wandered up the hall looking for the oldest photo. They passed daguerreotypes from the 1800s, then sepia hued photos from the early 1900s, which eventually gave way to crisp black and white, then color. The oldest images showed men in groups of twenty or thirty. As the years became more recent, the numbers decreased to groups of ten or more; the earliest, just a handful.

"They're all men," Joanna remarked.

"Nope, found a woman," Bobby said. "Here."

Joanna peered at the photo. "Looks like the woman in the kitchen, Mercy," she said. "I recognize her big...personality."

"That's impossible. This photo was taken ages ago. If that's Mercy, she's got to be like, fifty."

Joanna shrugged. "Maybe it's her mom. Here, let's try to find Gambit's picture."

They continued down the hall several feet. It wasn't too hard to find Remy amidst the groups of young men. Most of the men in the photos had a certain familial look. Remy stood out for being taller and thinner than the rest. His enigmatic eyes would have made him easier to spot, except that the photo was slightly blurred. It appeared he had just moved when the photo was snapped, leaving two impressions of his face. Emil was in the photo beside him. He was the only person in all the photos with a smile.

Joanna was disappointed that the photo wasn't as embarrassing and she'd hoped it would be. Remy looked pretty much the same as he did now. Save for the goofy Guild clothing.

"Hey, do you hear that?" Bobby asked. The house had been strangely silent except for the creaking floorboards beneath their feet. Somewhere on the first floor came the faint sound of music.

"Must be a radio," Joanna said. "I hope it doesn't _distract_ anyone."

"If there's a radio, maybe we could listen to the news or something."

"I guess it beats talking to you," replied Joanna.

They walked back up the hallway to the landing and started down the curved staircase. As they walked, the music grew slightly louder. They found it was emanating from the study. Joanna put her hand to the door latch.

"Pears said that the study was closed," Bobby said, putting his hand out to stop her.

"No, he said we could use the library during the day. He didn't say anything about it being closed."

"I'm sure that's what he meant," Bobby said.

"Fine, let's just stand out here then," Joanna complained.

"Oh, all right! Let me just peek first," Bobby said, stepping into her path so she had to move away. He pushed the latch down and opened the door slightly. Light spilled into the foyer from the well-lit room beyond. Putting his head into the crack between the two doors, Bobby found himself looking down a long room lined with book-filled shelves. At the far end of the room was the source of the music. A quartet of violinists was performing, three boys and a girl. Bobby was looking at the backs of their audience, which was turned to face the musicians. Ranks of young men and women were standing silently and quite still, the youngest grouped toward the front closest to the violinists, the eldest closest to Bobby at the back. They were all dressed in loose fitting tunics over dark long-sleeved shirts. They wore fitted pants and soft soled leather boots. Several had bands of color on their sleeves, but the majority were dressed in solid shades of gray and black. Bobby found their stillness strangely eerie.

"Bobby..." Joanna whispered urgently. He waved her back.

Well, they weren't completely still, as he realized. The two teenagers nearest to the back had their arms folded. One would make silent covert gestures with his fingers, then pause. The other responded in kind. Bobby realized they were signing to one another. The taller boy must have made some kind of joke, because the other ducked his head and concealed a smile with his gloved hand.

"Bobby...!" Joanna hissed, tugging his arm. Bobby slapped her hand away.

The girl in front of the two boys must have sensed their movements, because she turned to give them a disgusted look. As she moved to resume her attention on the performance, her eyes flicked in Bobby's direction. They grew wide and her head snapped back to face forward.

"Bobby!" Joanna now said loudly.

The audience seemed to turn as a unit to look back at Bobby. One of the violinists, a thin Asian boy, squeaked out a shrill note. An adult thief moved to stand in front of the violinists, looking directly at Bobby with an unfriendly look on his face. Bobby quickly shut the door.

"Joanna!" Bobby scolded. "What is it? You just got me busted!"

Joanna was pointing up towards the top of the stairs. "There's someone or some_thing_ up there!" she said.

"It's probably creepy weirdo Pierce _Like-With-A-Knife_," Bobby said, wiggling his fingers at her. "Mwahahaha."

"No it wasn't!" Joanna said. "It was something else. Something creepier and weirder!"

"Hard to imagine."

"What are you two doing?" a voice asked from across the foyer.

Bobby and Joanna startled and turned to see Mercy standing in front of the double doors leading to the sitting room. She had her hands on her hips.

"Uhm...we were, ah...definitely _not_ exploring," said Bobby.

Mercy pursed her lips. "Come with me," she said and beckoned them with her finger.

"Now you've done it," Joanna said.

"Me? It was you who-."

"Just in here," Mercy said, opening the sitting room door. "You're not in trouble. I apologize for earlier. I don't make a very good first impression."

Bobby was the first to walk over to her. "No, it's okay," he told her. "Stressful situation. We're cool."

She smiled at him and he felt himself smiling stupidly back. He followed her into the sitting room, Joanna reluctantly trailing behind. This room was dim, lit only by several burning candles which rested on every available flat surface. The curtains were drawn, and it had been dark outside now for at least an hour. There were candles on the tabletops scattered about the room amidst small groupings of chairs or settees. Several more candles lined the mantle where a clock sat silent, the hands stilled. There was a man seated in front of the fireplace, lit from behind by the glow of yet more candles behind the fireplace screen. His glasses reflected the light. He seemed to be outfitted in his work attire, if you spent your work hours climbing through windows in the dead of night. He was holding something in his hand that made a faint rattle in the dark stillness.

"Enh, Genard," Mercy called. "I'll take over from here."

Genard unfolded himself from the chair and glanced behind Mercy to see Bobby and Joanna.

"Remy's friends," Mercy said, waving airily at the pair.

Genard shook his head impatiently, then pocketed the string of rosary beads he was holding. He strode from the room without a word.

"Friendly guy," Bobby said.

"He'll be even friendlier when he finds out what happened to his truck. Have a seat wherever you like," Mercy said. "Would you like some wine? I could use a drink."

Bobby sat himself on a sofa. Joanna adjusted a chair and was about to sit when she spotted a long table set at the far end of the room. The narrow end faced the door. On it was the unmistakable form of a body draped with a black cloth.

"You intend for us to sit in the dark with a corpse?" she asked, pointing.

"Well, it's not entirely dark, we've got de candles. And someone has to sit with Tante Mattie until Remy comes back and takes his turn," Mercy said as she opened a cabinet and removed a bottle of wine. "I hope you like red. I've been saving dis Cab for awhile."

Bobby tried to pull his attention away from the body on the table. "Uhm, I'm-."

"I'd drink paint thinner at this point. Just put some alcohol in a glass," Joanna said and plopped herself down onto a chair.

Mercy corked the bottle, pulled three wine glasses by their stems from the cabinet with one hand, and sashayed her way across the room. She sat and set the glasses on the table. "I got dis from a client of mine. He was really impressed wit' my work," she said with a sly smile. "But maybe you know him? Tony Stark?"

"Multi-billionaire playboy Tony Stark? What kind of _work_ were you doing, exactly?" Joanna said snidely, and Bobby stepped on her foot.

Mercy grinned. "I keep the details of my work in strictest confidence," she said. "And Mr. Stark only wanted to show his appreciation for my talents. I told him I was a happily married woman, but I'd be glad to accept a alternative bonus." She poured three glasses and set the bottle down. "I t'ink I made de right choice between de two. Dis bottle will certainly last me longer."

Bobby choked and began to cough.

Joanna picked up the glass by the stem, swirled the dark red liquid around, smelled it, tasted it, and pronounced it good.

Bobby stared at her.

"What?" she snapped. "I can't appreciate wine?"

Mercy had left the sitting room door open, so they could hear the faint sounds of the recital resuming in the room across the foyer. Apparently they had moved on to the piano.

"Isn't dis nice?" Mercy said, raising her glass to the still figure on the table and then taking a sip.

"Is this some sort of after-school recital?" Bobby asked, referring to the students in the next room.

"Oh, no. This is de regular class time. They do their music 'round dis time," Mercy responded. "But they should be done before ten, so if you want to sleep you won't hear anything from them after that. They'll all be studying."

"Yeah," Bobby said slowly. "They seem very...well-disciplined."

Mercy nodded and swallowed another sip of wine. "Dis isn't such a bad bunch, these kids. Most of the strays Remy sends here are a bit unruly, save for de last group he picked up. They came pretty well-behaved."

"How do you get them all to shut up?" asked Joanna. "If only we could figure that out at the school..."

"Regular public beatings," Mercy answered. "You know, to set an example."

Bobby and Joanna stared at her.

"I'm _joking_!" Mercy said, exasperated. "You don't think we beat our kids, do you? We don't have to. They just fall in line."

"I work with teenagers every day and I've never seen anything like that," Bobby said, pointing to the door.

"Well, it's like dis," Mercy said, swishing her wine around her glass. "The littler ones get paired wit' the big ones, who set an example for the littler ones to follow. If you can follow de example, you get to be a sponsor when you're old enough. Can't become a Guild thief if you don't become a sponsor first."

"So you have kids taking care of other kids? Must take some pressure of the teachers...and the parents," Bobby said.

"I wouldn't know," Mercy said. "My husband and I never had any kids." She took a sip of wine. "I always thought there'd be more _time_, but then there wasn't. Henri died, so I guess everyone else was right. A girl can't be a Guild thief and a proper wife after all."

"I'm so sorry," Bobby said finally picking up his glass and staring into it. "About your husband."

Mercy shrugged off his apology and the sad look on her face disappeared. "Oh...well, Cousin Emil makes enough babies to fill de ranks. Five and another on de way." She muttered darkly with a small mean smile: "Marie-Therese'll never have her figure back, that's a certainty."

"More cousins?" Joanna said. "You and Remy are both cousins with Emil?"

"Oh, we all call each other 'cousin.' We're all related _somehow _so it saves on de confusion," Mercy said, gesturing grandly with her wine glass.

"One big happy incestuous family," Joanna remarked.

"Joanna!" Bobby scolded.

"We're not all of us that closely related. We've got matchmakers to figure that sort of t'ing out so no one marries their sister or something and ends up with a kid with two heads." Mercy was about to take another sip when her face began to turn red. "I mean...not that a kid with two heads is bad or anything or—-you don't have any students with multiple heads, do you...? I'm not tryin' t'say any of y'all are a product of incest. Sorry! Dat came out wrong."

Bobby held up a hand to quiet her. "Don't worry about it. No offense."

"Speak for yourself," Joanna muttered into her glass.

"So you were saying...about the matchmakers? Like, Cajun Yente?"

Mercy smiled, her face still flushed. "What..? What's 'Yente?'" she asked as the voices of children singing wafted down the hall.

"Yente from _Fiddler on the Roof_...?" Bobby hedged. "The matchmaker? '_Matchmaker matchmaker make me a match_...?'"

Mercy shook her head.

"Wow, for real? You don't even get that reference?"

"Wait, so your marriage was _arranged_?" Joanna asked.

"That's right," Mercy responded.

"Oh, well that explains it," Bobby said. He was thinking of the cubicle they all shared in the teacher's lounge that was plastered with snapshots. Remy had a photo of himself and his brother Henri, where Remy was laying his head on top of Henri's so to make his bald brother look as though he had a head full of hair. Remy had his eyes closed and mouth open. Henri's expression was one of bemused tolerance. Bobby didn't like the photo, because it made him think of Gambit as less than just a jerk (which he was), and more like an actual real person. Someone's annoying kid brother.

"Explains what...?" Mercy asked.

"Well, Henri is-," Bobby said, suddenly realizing the path his words were walking down. "And you're so...I mean, you're so... _you_." He gestured expansively at Mercy, her long blond hair, curvaceous body, full lips that were now curved down at the corners...

"You think that because my late husband wasn't conventionally handsome I wouldn't be attracted to him?" Mercy asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Erm..." Bobby said and Joanna snickered at his discomfort.

"Who's got 'foot-in-mouth' now?" Joanna asked.

Mercy shook her head. "Nevermind, we've all said something stupid. I blame the wine," she said, sipping thoughtfully. "Henri had plenty of attractive qualities. He was a real catch. All the other girls couldn't believe my luck when I was picked for him." Mercy's expression was smug. "He was a high-ranking thief in the Guild," she began, ticking off the points on her fingers, "_and_ a LeBeau."

"How is that a good point?" Joanna asked.

"The LeBeau clan is the ruling family," she answered haughtily. "And it was always assumed Henri would take over leadership after his father Jean-Luc. What seventeen-year-old girl doesn't dream of being a princess?"

"I didn't," Joanna responded. "And I guess your dream ended when Remy showed up. I bet you were ticked."

Mercy gave her a squinty-eyed look. "Maybe I was at first...when Jean-Luc arranged for Remy to be married to Bella Donna and unite de Guilds under their leadership...But Henri never let it bother him so I tried not to. No. Henri could've been a jerk, everyone thought he was entitled to be. But he was a better man than that. He took t'teaching Remy everything he'd learned so Remy could assume the title. A lesser man would've left some upstart kid's ass flapping in the wind and been glad to watch him fail. But not Henri, he loved his little brother."

"For all the good it did him," Joanna said.

"Yes, well...what happened was't entirely Remy's fault," Mercy responded. "And it certainly wasn't his choice to leave. He would have rather died than go into exile and probably would have if Candra hadn't interfered."

"Why does that name come up again?" Bobby wondered.

"Candra was a major factor in our existence. She had a hand in just about everything we did," Mercy pointed with her wine glass. "Y'all did us a major favor by offing that sick bitch. So thanks for dat!"

"But you said she saved Gambit from being killed," Bobby said.

"I said she kept him from dyin'," Mercy said finishing her glass and pouring a second. "Or rather, the assassins saw to it by selling him off to Candra to pay his debt. He was worth more alive than dead t'them, as a ransom."

"What debt?" Joanna asked.

"They were owed the sum of what Julien, de assassin Remy killed, would've made if he'd lived. Which is in my opinion was a whole lotta nothin'. A more worthless human being you're never likely t'meet. Anyway, the Thieves' Guild didn't have de funding, so Candra offered to pay."

"Worst in-laws _ever_," Bobby said.

"Seriously," Mercy said. "And if anyone asks, you never heard me tell dat tale. If it ever got back to Belle, Remy would be super pissed wit' me."

"How could she not know?" Bobby asked. "Her family sold her husband!"

"Well, she don't. Let's keep it dat way. It would hurt her if she ever thought her own kin did that t'her or t'Remy."

"So is that how Gambit ended up with Candra?" Joanna asked.

"He had to work for her to pay off de ransom she paid. Jean-Luc is usually cool as ice, but when Candra took Remy he was really rattled. He tried to get Remy t'throw her over, but Remy wouldn't. She messed him up good. When Remy did turn up somewhere out west, he was meaner than a snake. He was never mean before. He could be amazingly insensitive and breathtakingly stupid sometimes... and he definitely didn't follow de rules... but he was never mean."

"Are you so sure about that?" Joanna asked, setting her glass down hard on the table.

"Yes, of course!" Mercy responded. "I know he could have a temper if you pushed his buttons long enough, God knows Emil's seen it...but Remy'd never have hurt anyone on purpose. Especially not his own brother. And when Henri tracked him down t'go talk t'him..out near Seattle, I think... Remy attacked him! When Henri told me what happened, I didn't believe it."

"Well, believe it!" Joanna said. "I've seen it! I've seen him at his worst. I saw him with Candra and she didn't make him do anything he didn't all ready want to do. So, sorry to break it to you, but your rosy view of Gambit is way off base. He's a liar and a killer and worse."

Mercy was shaking her head. "No!" she glanced over at the figure on the table behind them. "He wasn't himself! It was Candra-!"

Joanna grabbed the arms of her chair. "He did throw Candra over! For me! Or so I thought! He only took up with me to make her mad! You should have seen her face when she caught us. She'd never believe he'd choose _me_ over _her_..." her mouth twisted with fury. "But _I_ did! He played me for a fool!"

Mercy eyes and mouth were wide as Joanna stood, threw back her chair, and stormed from the room. When the door slammed, Mercy dropped her glass and hid her face in her hands.

For a moment, Bobby sat frozen on the spot until Mercy made a small sad noise and began to cry. He stood and righted the chair, placing it close to where Mercy was seated.

"I'm really sorry about that," he said softly. "Really, that was...I think Joanna does care about Gam-about Remy in a weird sort of way, and doesn't know what to do with it. She's not the most introspective person ever."

Mercy sniffled and wiped her palm across her cheek. "I really thought Remy was better," she said miserably. "I thought ever since he'd signed up with y'all he was more himself. Not like de same as he was, but better. Saner."

Bobby put a hand on her shoulder. "Sure, he's...better. You know. Anyway, the Remy I know wouldn't do what Joanna said. Not now anyway."

Mercy nodded sadly and smiled through her tears. "It's so nice of you t'come all dis way and watch over him. Heaven help him, he can barely look after himself. You're a good friend."

Bobby felt very guilty all of a sudden. "Yeah...well. It's no problem."

"You have t'believe that Candra manipulated him," she said urgently and looked back to the table. "I hope what they say is wrong, and de dead don't linger until they're laid t'rest. Tante's heart would break in a million pieces if she heard any of that. Candra hated Jean-Luc...and Tante Mattie for dat matter. She'd have done anything t'hurt them, and Remy was de best way to strike at their hearts."

"But why?" Bobby asked. "What did she have against them?"

"Who knows, she's a crazy bitch," Mercy said, shrugging. She picked up her fallen wine glass from the carpet. Fortunately, she had emptied it before it fell. "But I do know that your friend Logan should've brought Remy back by now."

"They're not in any trouble, I'm sure," Bobby said.

Mercy tsked. "I know I tried to defend him, but Remy does have a way of slipping out of responsibility. He needs to sit up with Tante so I can finish cookin'."

"How about I take Joanna and we go track him down?" Bobby asked. "That way you won't have to worry about either of us."

She smiled and touched his arm. "Would you?"

"Sure," Bobby said, mesmerized by wide blue eyes. "Where do you think he'd go?"

"De same place he always goes when he's avoiding de rest of us," Mercy said. "Back to Tante Mattie's house."

* * *

><p><em>From the author: Next time...Flames, explosions, and other fun stuff.<em>


	3. Up From Below

_To all the love I lost... just tryin' to play boss  
>To all those friends I hurt... I treated 'em like dirt<br>And all those words I spewed... Nothin' sacred, nothing true  
>To all these Ghosts I turn... I'm ready now to burn!<br>'Cause I've all ready suffered  
>I want you to know God<br>I'm ridin' on Hell's hot flames  
>Comin' up from below<em>  
>-Up From Below, Edward Sharpe &amp; The Magnetic Zeros<p>

The city was little more than a russet smear of light in the horizon from this distance. Out along this portion of the lake it was dark, with only a few stars visible in the night sky. Logan drove down the rutted path towards Matilde Baptiste's home, conscious of the sounds and movement of the surrounding wildlife. There were snakes, and owls, and raccoons. Frogs and crickets called in the night. The truck's headlamps swept over the cabin, illuminating the front porch.

"Where's Bea?" Remy asked, eyes scanning the yard.

"Who?" Logan asked.

"De goat, Bea. I left her tied to the porch," Remy answered.

Logan parked the truck near the shed. They both stepped from the vehicle. Twin door slams silenced the nearby chirping of frogs. Wolverine walked through the grass toward the cabin, Gambit falling in his wake. The headlamps on the truck remained on as they walked. Gambit could see equally well in the darkness, if not better than Wolverine, but he certainly couldn't smell or hear what Wolverine had detected.

"Bea!" Gambit called and Wolverine put his hand out to touch Gambit's shoulder, silencing him. Gambit looked at him curiously.

Wolverine found the first chicken several feet ahead, just outside the fence. It was dead. Little more than a pile of mangled feathers was all that remained. It could have been raccoons that had killed the bird, if they didn't find second chicken impaled on the fence post. Gambit sucked in a breath, and turned to survey the area. The headlamps turned themselves off throwing them both into darkness but not before Wolverine spotted the goat.

"Stay here," Logan said, and paced forward.

"What is it?" Gambit said, and began to follow.

Logan pointed his finger back at Gambit, who drew to a halt.

The goat's body was laying in the path leading to the front steps. Blood had pooled beneath it's neck and its entrails had spilled from its open stomach. The head was missing. Wolverine scanned the surrounding landscape. He smelled the animal's fear and sensed the warmth leaving its body. This was done recently. There were various trails of human scent as well, leading across the lawn and down the drive...leading up to the house. Steeling himself, he walked to the house. The door was broken off its hinges and set back up against the jamb. He slid the door aside and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darker interior.

The goat's head was on the floor, facing the open doorway. The house's remaining furnishings were cast aside, so the wooden floor was a completely blank canvas for the message spelled in the animal's blood.

"YOU'RE NEXT MUTIE." The blood was black as ink in the darkness.

Wolverine stepped back and replaced the door. He found himself backing into Gambit, who had followed him onto the porch. Wolverine could see the other man's face was grim.

"We can get this cleaned up," Wolverine told him.

"I suppose it's my fault for stealin' Pollard's dog. I take his dog, he gets my goat. Literally."

"He killed that goat for no good reason other than spite."

Gambit stepped down from the porch and sat on the top step, staring at the goat's body. He looked up at Wolverine and was about to speak again when a bottle arced overhead, smashing into the side of the cabin. Wolverine smelled the acrid scent of gasoline.

Gambit leapt to his feet. In the not too distant trees, they could hear the baying of dogs. There were men appearing from the tall grass just outside the fenced yard. The dogs were coming closer, they could see them and their handlers now. One of the closer figures swung, and a second bottle smashed onto the porch. Wolverine and Gambit began to move forward as one toward their attackers when they heard the sound of a rifle being fired. Both instinctively ducked and then froze in place.

"Not another move, freaks!" called a voice. There was a flare of a lighter and a kerosene-soaked rag was lit. The rag was fed into a bottle full of gasoline. The man holding the lighter sent his firebomb flying through the air, where it then hit the steps of the cabin and ignited with a roar.

With the porch ablaze, Sheriff Pollard now walked to stand at the opening in the fence. He was holding a pistol in one hand, a length of rope over his shoulder. He was backed by several men, many of which had barking dogs. The dogs were worked into a frenzy, barking and baying and frothing at the mouth. The sheriff sneered at the two mutants. Holding his pistol low, he fired several shots at Gambit who was forced to dance backward. As Gambit leapt back, he pulled several playing cards from his jacket and charged them to throw. Wolverine sprung his claws.

"We gone have us an old fashioned lynchin'," the sheriff said, swinging the rope from his shoulder so the coil spilled onto the ground before him. "We like things traditional out here..."

* * *

><p>Mercy's car was really, really cool. It was a mid-seventies Dodge Challenger in black with a white stripe down the center. The coolness of the car was only detracted slightly by the vanity plates that read: "MERCYME." Bobby was driving with Joanna beside him in the passenger seat. Only the car was a manual, and Bobby had ground the clutch twice and nearly stalled out at every stop sign.<p>

"I'm telling you I saw something in that house... something weird!" Joanna was saying over the music on the radio. Bobby had found a classic rock station to go along with the "vibe of the car" and they were now driving along the road to The Rolling Stones.

"_Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts...It's not easy facing up when your whole world_-..." Joanna jabbed the volume control, silencing it.

"No touching the radio!" Bobby said.

"Are you sure you can drive this car?" Joanna asked and then was thrown back in the seat when Bobby hit the gas pedal.

"Whoops, sorry!" Bobby said. "She's a feisty one!" he said, stroking the steering wheel.

"Idiot! Will you pay attention to what I'm saying?"

"I heard you! You saw something weird. Well, let's look at the facts here," Bobby said, raising a finger. "Gambit- weird... His family- weird... Those kids- way weird... and sitting in a parlor with a dead body is definitely weird... So in summation, everything here is-." Bobby slammed on the brakes and the car came to a screeching halt. They were thrown up against their seat belts. Up ahead, an alligator slowly waddled its way to the opposite side of the road.

"-_Weird_!" Bobby finished. The alligator slipped from the road and disappeared into a ditch.

Bobby and Joanna stared at one another for a moment. "All right," Joanna said as Bobby began to drive. "Maybe not weird. What I saw was just..._wrong_."

"What? Did Frenzy see a ghosty? Are you scared?"

Joanna backhanded his arm and Bobby winced and said: "OW! I'm driving here!"

"No! Not a ghost. Maybe like...I don't know! A zombie!"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Joanna, just keep an eye out for that broken down truck so I don't miss our turn. It's pitch black out here and I have to look out for alligators-_apparently_!"

Joanna slouched against the door. "The only reason we're out here in this godforsaken wilderness is because you got taken in by that blond bimbo!"

"She's not a bimbo!" Bobb answered hotly. "She's our hostess and her _aunt just died_...you could try to be just the slightest bit considerate!"

Joanna stared at her reflection in the window.

After a while, Bobby finally asked: "Are you sure you don't see the truck?"

"No," Joanna said, rubbing her face sleepily. She looked out the window and blinked. "I think I see smoke though."

"Looks like something is on fire."

* * *

><p>Pollard lowered his arm and the handlers released the dogs. The animals jumped forward. The dogs swept past Gambit and charged for whatever wild scent they caught from Wolverine. Before Wolverine was beset by the snarling dogs he saw Gambit throw his cards, which lit up the night with light and sound. A man screamed and another few shots were fired.<p>

The dogs jumped at Logan, clawing and biting at his limbs, leaping for his throat. He managed to throw off one of the animals, only to find another dog jumping into the fray. His claws raked the belly of one dog sending it yelping onto the ground.

"Down!" shouted a man, and all but one of the dogs suddenly shrank back from Wolverine. Wolverine reached to rip the snarling dog from his leg when a rifle shot caught him in the chest. The blow of the shot rocked him back a step. Blood sprayed into his face, and for a moment he felt air wheeze through the hole in his chest before his healing factor had a chance to kick in. The dogs were on him again in an instant. Through the flying fur and snapping teeth, Wolverine tried to see what had happened to Gambit. Several more fires had started in the grass and on the roof of the house. Wolverine saw a man go spinning past, his shirt ablaze. Wolverine killed another dog, impaling it on his claws. Some of the dogs were now shrinking back as Wolverine snarled at them. He put another dog down and broke the back of yet another. Another shot caught Wolverine in the gut, and he looked up to find the gunman.

Wolverine had to give the men credit. They might be a bunch of racist corrupt cops, but they weren't stupid. They knew enough about him to keep him at a distance with dogs and gunfire and stay out of the reach of his claws. Gambit on the other hand had been overwhelmed by numbers, the attackers knowing that the explosive cards he threw were good in long-distance fights. In close range he'd risk injuring himself. They also knew to keep the two of them separated and were steadily driving Gambit back out of Wolverine's range of sight.

By now the lawn was lit by the blaze of the many fires on the property. Wolverine saw Gambit duck a swung club. Gambit grabbed the end of the club and forced the weapon back, slamming it into his opponent's stomach. He reversed his momentum and put his elbow into the throat of the man behind him. The man crumpled, and a second man quickly took his place. Gambit had to throw himself backward to avoid being struck in the face with a the butt of a rifle. It connected with his chest instead, and from even this distance Wolverine could hear the hollow sound of the blow.

Wolverine sent the last dog fleeing in terror. It ran yelping off into the night. He was about to charge toward Gambit, heedless of the gunshots fired in his direction. The Molotov cocktail thrown at him smashed against the ground in his path, sending flammable gasoline racing up his legs. The men were getting braver now, and had come within range of Wolverine to use clubs. One club shattered over the back of Wolverine's neck. His legs were now engulfed with flames and smoke was tearing at his throat.

In spite of the flames, Wolverine felt a sudden blast of chill air sweep over him. The surrounding grass slowly grew hoary with frost and the damp ground became crusted with ice. The humidity in the air crystallized and turned into a fine mist of sparkling ice. There was a strange creaking noise, like the sound of foot stepping into deep snow. The men surrounding Wolverine began to look around as their world became muted with a fine layer of ice. Fires in the grass fizzled out and things became eerily still. The creaking noise continued and suddenly the blazing house behind them sprung icicles along its eaves. With the fire quenched they found themselves plunged into darkness. Out in the night came a loud screech of rending metal and then from the blackness hurled the front end of an old pickup truck. Men scattered as the truck crashed into the lawn, scattering glass and debris.

Over the roof of the house a long tongue of ice appeared. It arched down and came to a curving stop beside Wolverine, whose pants and shirt were smoking. Iceman slid down his slide, appearing at Wolverine's shoulder with a smile. "Just when you thought things couldn't get any weirder!" he said, before his head and shoulder exploded.

The gunman readied another shot when Wolverine leapt upon him. The shot fired harmlessly into the air as they fell. Behind Wolverine, Iceman's head and shoulder reformed itself. Two men lost their nerve and turned to flee. Frenzy stepped out from behind the wreckage of the truck and clothes-lined them both on her outstretched arms. She had one in each hand and was lifting them up off the ground when the rope fell over her head and tightened around her throat. She gagged and the two men dropped. One picked up a fallen club and was about to smash Frenzy in the gut with it when his legs slipped out from under him. He and his companion danced on the ice for a few moments before crashing to the earth.

Frenzy pulled down against the rope around her neck, dragging her attacker onto her back. He was flipped over and he landed on the dirt in front of Frenzy. She raised her foot to bring it down on his head. The man screamed and rolled away, just as her boot came crashing down where his head was a moment before. She seized him by the back of the neck and waist of his pants and threw him into the two men who were struggling to regain their footing. They spilled across the lawn like bowling pins.

Frenzy, Wolverine, and Iceman regrouped, surveying the wreckage around them. "Where's Gambit?" Frenzy asked.

She was answered by the sound of a gunshot. The trio sprinted around the to the side of the house. Pollard was standing by a guttering fire. It lit half his face in an unearthly golden glow. The other half of his face was a sheet of blood. He was holding his pistol in his hand. Three other men stood with him. One had Gambit's arm twisted behind his back, while the other two forced him to his knees before Pollard. Pollard pressed the barrel of his gun into Gambit's forehead, hard enough to mark his flesh. Gambit stared up at him with his glowing red eyes, his face a blank mask.

"Stop!" Wolverine shouted.

Pollard did not turn, but continued to stare down at Gambit. "Y'all can-clear off," he said to the other mutants. He was breathing hard. "We're done here."

"Drop your weapon!" Joanna commanded.

Pollard's finger tightened on the trigger. "I ain't lettin'-this one get away-from me. Not again. Gimme your knife," Pollard barked at one of the other men. The man complied, passing over a hunting knife. Pollard crouched, shifting the barrel of the gun to press into Gambit's throat, while bringing the knife point to his stomach. "They say you got-the devil inside you, boy," Pollard wheezed. "And I aim t'see if it's true-when I spill your guts on the ground."

"You only got t'look in my eyes t'see it," Gambit responded, his voice cold and level.

"You think you can-talk your way into my head-you worthless freak? I ain't one of these stupid-superstitious yokels you've got fooled-inta thinkin' you're some demon. You ain't from Hell, but I 'd be happy-t'send you there."

"You'd best believe, Sheriff. I'm all ready in your head. I all ready know your secrets. D'you think your family will miss you when you're gone? D'you think your wife will mourn your loss?" His face twitched as Pollard pressed the blade into his abdomen, and a trickle of blood began do flow down the front of his jeans.

Gambit pressed on: "Or your boy that you've set on down same path with the things you done to him, same as your daddy done t'you?"

"You shut-your filthy-mouth!"

Gambit's smile was cruel in the dim light. As the fire died, his eyes grew brighter for the darkness. "I am the devil's own son, I tell you. I was born from flames, and I'll see you die by them."

Pollard stood and drew a breath, aimed his pistol. The gun in his hand became unbearably hot and began to glow starting from the barrel where it had touched Gambit's skin. He cast it aside with a cry and it exploded in the dirt. Frenzy, Wolverine, and Iceman moved forward. The other men, seemingly shaken by Gambit's words, had dropped back in fear. Doubt flashed in their eyes as they tensed to flee. Gambit regained his feet.

"It's over Pollard," Wolverine told the sheriff.

"Oh, no it ain't," Gambit said, his eyes never leaving the sheriff's face. Pollard's face was pale and waxy under the mask of blood and sweat. The corner of his mouth sagged.

Gambit slowly raised his hand, pointing his finger at the sheriff's chest. Remy mimed shooting the sheriff with his finger. "Bang," he said.

The sheriff staggered backwards, then turned. "You-fucking..." he stammered, walking away into the darkness.

"You dead, Sheriff Pollard," Gambit called after him.

From several feet away, they saw the sheriff stagger forward, his hand clutched his chest over his heart. He pitched forward into the grass.

"Oh my God!" Iceman exclaimed, looking from Pollard's prone form in the grass back to Gambit, who stood so still.

Remy slowly turned to the remaining attackers, aiming his finger at each of them. His eyes were very bright, his smile frightening, his voice very quiet when he spoke. "I'm in your head...and yours..." he said pointing to each man. "You, Michaels, and you Devereaux...how's your wife? Still sleepin' with your pal LeRoy over here? I know your name, I got your ticket. You all are dead, y'hear? It's just a matter of time now."

The men were shrinking back, terrified.

"I hope you choose t'spend the rest of the time I'm allowin' you wisely." The men looked at one another, unsure of what to do. "Well?" Gambit yelled at them, the cold mask suddenly dropping away to reveal something wilder, more out of control. "What are you waiting for? Time's a wastin'! Tick tock!"

The men turned and ran into the night.

Behind them the old cabin which had stood on that ground for over a century groaned and collapsed into itself, sending one last plume of sparks into the night sky.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note<strong>: _Thought I'd explain a few of the characters so everyone is caught up._

_**Joanna Cargill** – aka Frenzy, former Acolyte and villain who joined the X-Men after experiencing an alternate reality where she was a hero. Currently employed at Jean Grey School. Has a past with Gambit that has been hinted at in the books which I have elaborated on. _

_**Jean-Luc LeBeau **– Remy's adoptive father, former leader of the Thieves' Guild, has been MIA._

_**Tante Mattie/Matilde Baptiste** – Guild Traiteur (healer) and the closest thing Remy has to a mother. _

_**Henri LeBeau** – Remy's deceased adoptive brother._

_**Mercy LeBeau** – Henri's widow, Remy's sister-in-law_

_**Emil Lapin **– Remy's cousin and friend, expert in electronic thievery. Also his last name means "rabbit" in French. ;-)_

_**Genard Alouette** – Guild thief, Harvest Disseminator _

_**Theoren "Theo" Marceaux** – Guild thief, Harvest Master, cousin who hates Remy because Gambit was his younger brother Etienne's sponsor when Etienne was killed (see first Gambit ongoing series). _

_**Zoe Ishihara** – formerly of the Tokyo Thieves' Guild, is living in asylum with her brother Shirow in New Orleans._

_**BellaDonna Boudreaux** – Gambit's ex-wife and leader of Unified Guilds._

_**Candra**, The Benefactress – telekinetic External who demanded 7-year tithings from the Guilds in return for long life and power (see Gambit's first mini-series). Was killed by Cyclops. _

_Next time: Hanky panky. Please use responsibly. I will post the next chapter sometime next week! Enjoy!_


	4. Portions for Foxes

_I know I'm alone if I'm with or without you  
>But just bein' around you offers me another form of relief<br>When the loneliness leads to bad dreams  
>And the bad dreams lead me to callin' you<br>And I call you and say "C'mere!"  
>And it's bad news<br>Baby I'm bad news  
>I'm just bad news, bad news, bad news<br>-_Portions for Foxes, Jenny Lewis

Remy was on fire. He knew he was burned, because the skin on the backs of his hands was charred black. Black as coal. His hands were clenched into fists, his right hand clutching the fabric of his shirt over his heart. He forced his left hand to open, feeling the burned flesh crack and tear. His chest ached as he struggled to breathe. As he drew a breath his lungs seared with smoke and ash. He coughed and wheezed in lungfuls of scorching air. It was too bright to see where he was and his hand searched the floor, seeking an escape route. There was a door. Somewhere in front of him. He could see outline where the door met the floorboards.

He crawled forward toward the flickering line of light. There were flames all around, he knew. He would have to get through them to escape. His hand stretched up and out...the doorknob was above him. His hand grasped the knob. With a cry, he yanked his hand back, leaving shreds of his skin on the handle. The knob was blazing hot, it had seared his palm. In desperation, he threw himself against the door, gripping the doorknob with both hands in spite of the pain. The door rattled and refused to open. He clutched both hands to his chest, doubled over in agony, and crumpled to the ground. His face pressed to the floor, peering through the crack at the base of the door. There was nothing at all beyond but black emptyness.

Why was he here, trapped in this burning space? If only the door would open. Please let it open. Let them come back for him.

The fire was upon him now, landing in fiery ribbons all around him. It was painfully bright and he pressed his ruined hands against his eyes. The tears on his face steamed and evaporated in the heat, and the flames ripped the air left in his lungs from him. He heard a high keening wail, like the rising scream of a tea kettle on full boil. The noise became louder and he realized it was not the sound of steam escaping, but the panicked shriek of a child.

He realized the sound was coming from him.

And then the door opened.

* * *

><p>BellaDonna heard voices coming from the kitchen. That anyone should be up at this hour was no surprise in a house full of thieves. But she was unfamiliar with several of the voices. That gave her pause, as did the truck with the New York plates parked beside the outbuilding in the back. It was unheard of for outsiders to be permitted in or near the Thieves' Guild headquarters during nighttime hours when the children would be at their lessons.<p>

She noiselessly crept down the hall towards the kitchen, keeping out of sight to ascertain what the strangers' presence might mean.

"Are you sure we should leave him in there...with the-with Tante Mattie?" a man was asking.

"He's fine," that was Mercy, speaking dismissively.

"I don't know...maybe we should take him to a doctor," the man said uncertainly.

"He don't need no doctor. I stuck a bandage on him, he wasn't hurt too bad. Just let him sit up for awhile," Mercy said.

"I didn't mean that kind of doctor."

"He was talkin' out of his head," another man said, his voice low and gravely. Belle felt she recognized it, but could not place where she had heard it. Her memory could not always be relied upon.

"You're overreacting," Mercy replied.

"You didn't hear the things he was saying-," the first man said.

"Let me guess," Mercy continued. "Was it something like: 'I'm the devil! Run you stupid rednecks before I send y'all t'Hell'!"

"Well, yeah..." the second man began.

"Right," Mercy said. "He's been doing that for years! De whole "_Diable Blanc_" bit. People told him he was de devil ever since he was a little kid. It used to bother him at first...until he started using it to his advantage. It made people leave him be, even if it didn't win him many friends."

So Remy was here, after all. Then these people could be his friends, the X-Men. Her hand moved to the blade at her side. She waited. She could sense the presence of another person in the kitchen who had yet to speak.

"That was some act," a woman said. "So you think Pollard dropped dead of his own accord?"

Belle relaxed her grip on the blade. She did not recognize the woman's voice, only that it was loud and brash.

"Pollard had a heart condition," Mercy said. "He was supposed to have a pace-maker put in two weeks from now. Everyone knows that."

"Everyone?" the man Belle now recognized as Wolverine spoke. "Why would that be something people would know?"

She could imagine Mercy shrugging. "Because when someone has a weakness, dere's people who'd want to know dat weakness, just in case they need to exploit it later. Word gets 'round, we hear tell of t'ings. Mouths closed, ears open."

Pollard was dead, Belle thought. That could cause trouble later down the road. When someone like Pollard fell, there were a dozen more waiting to take his place. With Pollard, they all knew what they were dealing with. A delicate web of bribery and coercion and unspoken threats now had a snag in it. Who knew who could take Pollard's place? Someone worse, perhaps. Belle had heard all she needed to hear. These people might be a temporary upset to the daily functioning of the Guilds, but likely not a direct threat. Remy wouldn't be so foolish to bring them here otherwise.

She stole down the corridor towards the sitting room. She put her ear to the door but heard nothing from inside. She silently pushed down the latch and opened the door. As she pulled the door open, something slid down the opposite side of the door and landed on the floor at her feet. It was an arm, laying palm down on the floor between her boots. Remy was on the opposite side of the door, laying with his face pressed to the carpet, his opposite arm and his legs drawn up underneath his body.

Belle quickly dropped to a crouch beside him, touching his back. His clothes were in disarray and he smelled strongly of smoke. She gently shook his shoulder. She could feel the warmth of his skin through his clothes.

"Remy," she whispered. She moved to try to turn him over to see his face when he began to choke and cough. He gasped as if coming up for air after a long time underwater and coughed again. He was holding his hands in front of his mouth as he struggled to regain his breath. She put her hand to the back of his neck. His skin was very hot.

"_C'este bieun, me sha_," she whispered to him, pulling him upwards so they both sat crouched on their knees.

He took several shuddering breaths before speaking: "You always kept talkin' dat Cajun gobbledegook t'me, _chere_," he said. "It's no wonder no one understands a word I say in French or a_nglais_."

"What happened?" she whispered.

He shook his head. "Some kinda crazy nightmare, is all." He moved to stand, looking for support from the doorjamb. Belle took his arm.

"You should be in bed," she told him.

"I need t'stay up wit' Tante," he responded.

"I'll stay. I'm here t'take over 'til morning anyway," she told him. "But first we'll go upstairs."

He reluctantly complied, allowing himself to be led to the staircase. By the time they reached the top, he seemed to be out of breath. She began to turn right, where she knew his old room to be, but he stopped her. They instead walked to the left, through the door that once lead to Jean-Luc's room and study. Belle opened the door and closed it as Remy walked past her and sat down on the bed. He sat for several moments, unmoving.

Concerned, she walked over to him. "You feel fevered," she told him, pressing her hand to the side of his face. He put his own hand over hers, pressing her palm to his cheek.

"You feel cold," he said.

She pushed his jacket down from his shoulders as he pulled his arms from the sleeves. She folded the jacket over her arm and put it onto a nearby chair. Returning to him she said: "Put your arms up." She pulled his shirt over his head. "Lay down," she told him, pushing lightly on his shoulders. He flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. His hands were resting on his stomach. From the dim light through the windows, she could see a square of gauze taped to his abdomen just beside his navel, dotted with drops of blood. There was also a large welt over his heart spotted dark with broken blood vessels.

She took hold of one of his legs and tugged his boot off. She let his leg drop to the floor. He continued to lay immobile on the mattress. She repeated the process with his other leg. When he remained unresponsive, she moved to the belt of his jeans. Her fingers grabbed his belt buckle and began to pull.

"Hey," he said, taking her hands in his own. He was looking at her now.

"Get undressed," she told him. She tugged at the covers until he sat up and allowed her to pull back the sheets. "Get in bed."

He sighed and unbuckled his belt.

"Your hand is bleeding," she said. "Let me get something." She walked into the en suite bathroom as she heard his belt buckle hit the floor. Inside the bathroom, she flicked on the lights. She found some gauze, tape, and antiseptic in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. When the mirror closed she stared at her own reflection. Spots of color bloomed on her cheeks. Her lips were very red. She took a deep breath and held it, then slowly let it out. She turned off the light.

Back in the bedroom, Remy was laying under the covers, his damaged hand resting on top of the sheet. She walked over to him and kicked his jeans under the bed. She sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand. She felt him staring at her as she dabbed at his wounds. She unwrapped the gauze and folded it into a strip then covered the cuts and taped the edges down.

She continued to hold his hand until he pulled it away, inspecting her work. "Thanks," he said.

She nodded. She felt her heart beating very fast. Belle leaned over him and kissed his mouth. She felt his sharp intake of breath and his hands on her shoulders, lightly pushing her back. She took his hands and held them in her own against her chest.

"Belle..." he began, a pleading note in his voice.

She kissed him again before he could tell her to stop. She released his injured hand and pulled the sheet back, then laid herself atop him. His hand touched the back of her head. He smelled like smoke and his skin was warm and smooth, like the stones on the beach that soaked in the sun. His mouth tasted like her own. They were just the same. He kissed her back, his other arm wrapping around her waist. He pulled her into the bed, then rolled her to her side. Remy broke off the kiss, held her back and stared into her eyes.

"We can't do this," he whispered to her.

She put her fingers over his lips. "Why not?" she asked quietly. "You're alone. I'm alone. Let's be alone together." Belle moved to kiss him again, but he stopped her.

"I don't want to hurt you any more than I all ready have," he said.

"You just being here hurts me, Remy," she responded softly. "Seeing you...being near you, knowing you're here...knowing you're so close t'me and you're not mine t'have. It hurts me. Wanting you so badly, knowing you'll never love me in the way I want you to. The way I love you."

He was silent now and his eyes closed.

"Can't you understand how I feel?" she asked.

He nodded silently as if the motion pained him.

She pressed herself against him. "You promised me once t'love me for the rest of our days," she whispered against his mouth. "I knew it was too good to be true. But if I can't have a lifetime, can't you at least give me de one night? Just this one thing? So I can not feel so damn empty for a little while?"

Remy's hand moved over her cheek and down her neck. She shivered at his touch. His kiss was the answer she'd been seeking. She began to undress, and he seemed to come back to himself. Gone was the lethargy that had plagued him coming up the stairs. She pushed down his shorts, pulling him tightly against her body. His skin still felt over-warm as she pulled him onto her. She loved the feel of his weight pressing her to the mattress. It was a feeling of being protected, sheltered under his body.

Her legs went around his waist and with her heels against the backs of his legs, she urged him forward. His lips were on her neck. His hands in her hair, then on her shoulders, sliding down her sides. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt him move inside her, her body adjusted to fit him. She wondered if he would imagine she was someone else, that she was filling in for some other woman...the woman he really wanted. But when they were together it was just the same as it had been. He remembered her so well. They fit so perfectly together. Couldn't he see that?

His mouth pressed against her ear. She tightened the sheets against his body, gripping them like the reins of a horse, urging him on. She felt the moment come where all her limbs felt loose, her body weightless, like the moment a roller coaster crested the highest hill, right before the plunge. She moaned against his neck, liking the feel of his skin against her mouth, between her teeth.

She continued to hold onto him tightly, refusing to let him go even as the sound of his breath in her ear told her he was close. Belle kept her legs wrapped around his waist as he came against her. He made a small sound into the pillow behind her head as he shuddered against her. They lay still for several moments, breathing in and out together. She at last allowed him to slip away. Remy's arm was draped across her chest and she held it there with one hand. Her other hand cupped herself, where he had just been.

For a long time, there was nothing but the sound of their calming breathing and the feel of her own beating heart. He became still, his head on the pillow beside hers, his mouth just resting against her shoulder. He slept. Belle remained motionless in the bed, unwilling to disturb him, to disturb anything about the moment. She let her hand slide from Remy's arm and down her stomach where she let it rest against the flat of her abdomen.

"Please just give me this one thing," she whispered. "Please."

* * *

><p>Joanna was exhausted. They had been up at five a.m. that day for a long drive south, made longer by Bobby Drake's irritating running commentary. Her legs ached from being crammed in the back of the cab for all those long hours. She hadn't had much to eat that day either, just junk grabbed from convenience stores along their route. Only to arrive in New Orleans to haul crap out of an old dead lady's house for one long hot afternoon and evening. This had to be the longest day of her life all ready. Add to that punching local rednecks, which in her opinion was the highlight of the trip. But then the night stretched on and on. First waiting for the cops to arrive and the parish coroner to come retrieve Sheriff Pollard's corpse. Then it was all statements and questions and explanations. The whole time Joanna had watched Gambit sitting on the scorched steps of the burned out shack, staring blankly into space like a shock victim.<p>

She detested his sadness. It made him seem weak. The man she knew back in the days when they both worked for Candra wasn't sad. That man-boy was wildly angry, at times cruel, taking any negative word said to him as an insult. Everything became a personal slight which then turned into a fight. They were so alike back then. As she'd come to know him as an adult, she found a man who rolled with the punches until she wore herself out throwing them.

As she left the kitchen for her room, she paused in front of the sitting room doors. She could just go up, or she could look in on Gambit. Her feet decided for her before she could completely make up her mind. She found herself before the doors, her hand on the door latch. She depressed the latch and peered into the dark room. It was now lit with only a single candle, flickering beside the body of the dead witch woman. The room was otherwise empty.

Joanna closed the door and turned to the stairs. Where could he have gone? she wondered. She walked across the foyer towards the doors to the study. She wondered if the children would still be inside. She moved to press her ear to the door when her eyes caught movement at the top of the staircase. A dark shadow with glinting eyes. Her breath caught in her throat and the feeling of wrongness crept over her, same as it had when she'd first seen the figure. Bobby had dismissed her then. She would prove him wrong. Hating the sensation of fear that turned her gut to ice, she shook herself angrily and started up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

When she reached the top of the staircase she found the landing empty. The movement she had seen was her own reflection in the hall mirror. The mirror itself was hung above a hall table. It hung at an angle, tilting downwards towards the staircase, making Joanna's reflection appear distorted. As if she were much smaller than she really was. She took the final step to bring her onto the landing and looked to the right, up the long shadowy hall where her and Bobby's rooms were. To her left were another pair of doors. In the stillness, she could hear the faint sound of someone crying out. The voice was muffled but male.

She reached for the door handle, the previous fear making her hesitate a moment before she moved to turn the knob. She heard another noise, the voice of woman this time. Joanna put her ear to the door, all ready suspecting the sounds she was hearing were not the sounds of a struggle. The noises behind the door confirmed it. Her hand tightened on the doorknob and the muscles in her shoulders and neck knotted. She recognized Gambit's voice, but not the woman's. Joanna threw herself back from the door, wanting to rend it from its hinges. Stupid, she told herself, shaking her head. She turned on her heel and marched down the hall, slamming the door to her room shut behind her.

* * *

><p><em>Next time: Calling hours with a special Marvel guest-star, and the return of Jean-Luc LeBeau.<em>


	5. Sorrow

_Sorrow found me when I was young,  
>Sorrow waited, sorrow won.<br>Sorrow that put me on the pills,  
>It's in my honey it's in my milk.<br>Don't leave my half-a-heart alone  
>On the water,<br>Cover me in rag and bones, sympathy.  
>'Cause I don't wanna get over you.<br>I don't wanna get over you.  
>- Sorrow, The National<em>

Remy groaned and pulled the pillow over his head. He had forgotten to draw the window dressings closed and sunlight spilled into his room. He wondered why it wasn't raining. The day should be as miserable as he felt. He looked up from the cocoon of bed linens and found himself alone. He groaned again and rolled onto his back. He seemed to have a million aches and pains, the worst of which was his pounding head. Remy pushed himself into sitting position and put his feet to the floor. Leaning over sent his head spinning, so he clambered down onto all fours to fish his jeans from underneath the bed. He found his cell phone in his pocket. It was dead. He found his charger in the carry-on bag he had placed at the foot of the bed. His jacket was on the chair and he removed three bottles from the pockets.

Dragging himself into the bathroom, he plugged his charger into the wall and the charger into the phone. Tethered to the wall by the charger cable, he turned on his phone while lowering the lid to the toilet seat. He sat as the phone began to ring.

"Hello?" a voice answered.

"I may have done something stupid," Remy said without preamble.

"Remy," Cecelia's voice answered. "What happened? Are you all right?"

"Well, it began wit' me stealin' a dog," Remy started. "No, wait. First I punched Theo. Then the dog. I didn't punch the dog. No, I forgot. I stole a truck before I stole the dog-."

She let out a breath. "Have you been taking your medication?" she asked.

He had set the bottles onto the countertop, lining them up on the edge. He turned them so the labels faced him. "Well...yes. I have, only I don't think it's working."

"Tell me what you're feeling, then," she said. "Describe the side-effects."

"Most of de time I feel like I'm half-asleep and evert'ing is in slow motion," he said. "The rest of the time I'm-I don't know...I'm really sick of feeling like dis. How long do I have to keep taking dese things?" He pushed each bottle over with a forefinger.

There was a long pause. "Remy," Cecelia began. "You'll have to keep taking them for the rest of your life. I thought Xavier explained-."

"The rest of my life?" Remy said, sitting up straight. The cut on his stomach twanged with pain.

"Calm down," Cecelia told him. "Your voice sounds strange."

"I'm in de bathroom," he told her, reaching over to turn on the shower. He pushed the lever all the way to hot. "I thought I was going to get better!" he continued, his voice now muffled by the sound of the water.

"It will get better. You can have some adjustments made to the dosage," she responded. "You'll be able to manage the symptoms. You can lead a perfectly normal life with treatment. Well, as normal as you can get wearing spandex for a living."

"But this is forever?" he asked her.

"There's no magic fix for this, Remy," she said. "I thought you'd learned that the hard way."

"Dis is a bullshit diagnosis, Doctor!" he told her.

She paused. "I know, Remy. I'm sorry."

There was a knock at the bathroom door. "REMY?" a voice called.

"I'm using de bathroom!" Remy yelled back.

"I _know_ that, _casse-pied_!" Mercy said through the door.

"Who is that?" Cecelia was asking.

"A girl in my room," Remy responded. "You jealous?"

"Who are you talking to!" Mercy yelled.

"No one! Go away!" Remy yelled back.

"I put some clothes for you on de bed!" Mercy responded.

"Is that your sister?" Cecelia asked.

"Sister-in-law, actually. How did you know?" Remy asked, holding his arm out under the spray of scalding hot water and watching his skin turn red.

"And don't use up all de hot water!" Mercy said.

"I have an annoying brother of my own, you know," Cecelia told Remy.

"I'm not annoying. Mercy is de annoying one!" Remy told her.

"REMY!" Mercy yelled.

"I HEARD YOU! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"Remy, you need to take a deep breath," Cecelia said. "Keep taking your medication, even if you feel like it's not working. Make sure you get sleep and eat regular meals-."

"Oh, yeah..." Remy said, looking at the label on the pill bottle. "TAKE WITH FOOD" it read. "Whoops."

"This isn't a joke, Remy," Cecelia scolded. "This is your life. Do not fool around."

"Okay, okay..."

"And avoid any of the usual triggers. You don't want to have...an _episode_. I mean it. If you start to feel like you might be losing control, you need to remove yourself from the situation."

"Dat might be a little difficult in dis scenario..." he began, thinking of the calling hours that afternoon.

"You'll have to make your excuses and leave," Cecelia commanded. "Can I make this any clearer?"

"No ma'am."

"And be nicer to your sister," Cecelia told him. "She loves you, she just doesn't know how to show it."

"Yes ma'am."

Remy hung up and stepped into the shower. He stood there letting the water beat him in the face for a good five minutes, wishing the hot water would wash away the mistakes he'd made in the last twenty-four hours. Theo...Pollard...Belle... After he'd scrubbed himself down, he stepped from the shower and pulled a towel around his waist. He wiped his hand across the condensation on the mirror and looked at his murky reflection. He pitied anyone who had to look at the face he saw before him. Dark rings under his very dark eyes made his face look positively cadaverous. He had a bruise on his cheek, and bits of his hair had actually been burned off. He regarded the incinerated strands morosely. After he brushed his teeth, he found his razor and made an attempt at shaving his face with his right hand. He cut his chin.

Remy plodded back into the bedroom holding a square of toilet paper to his cut. When he saw the clothes Mercy had set out for him, he gave up entirely and collapsed face-first onto the mattress. He was still laying there with his legs sticking off the edge of the bed wearing nothing but a towel when Zoe Ishihara tapped on the door. When she received a long groan in response, she opened the door and peered into the room.

"Remy?" she asked quietly. She walked over to him and observed his motionless form. She lightly tapped him on the shoulder with a finger. "Remy?"

"Whahbt?" he said into the mattress.

"I hoped to speak with you," she told his back.

He rolled over. "Oh. Hey, Zoe," he said and sat up. He saw a lithe woman standing before him wearing formal attire of the Tokyo Thieves' Guild, a sort of short kimono in pearly grey over breeches. She was not wearing shoes, but a pair of soft slippers. An odd choice for a wake, and no doubt would raise some eyebrows with the more traditional clan members, which meant all of them. At least Remy wouldn't be the only one regarded with disdain that day.

"I know it's probably not a very good time," Zoe said.

Remy grabbed the clothes set out for him in his fist and walked back into the bathroom. "Just let me get some clothes on," he told her. She sat on the bed. He left the door to the bathroom open so he could see her reflected in the mirror.

"What do you want to talk about?" he asked her through the open doorway as he pulled on his pants and laced them.

"I wanted to ask you something... about the school you work for," Zoe replied. "For my brother."

"Shirow?" Remy asked, pulling on a dark form-fitted shirt. "What does he want to know about de school?"

Zoe hesitated. "Well, I wondered if there were any openings...to enroll him..." she began.

Remy emerged from the bathroom. He was wearing a dark green tunic over the black shirt and black breeches. He wore a frown on his face. "Dis is awful," he told her, gesturing at his clothing.

She stood and walked over to him and tugged one of his sleeves. "Mercy tried to let out Henri's uniform...but I suppose it's still too short," she said, adjusting his cloak so the LeBeau family crest was centered over his heart. "When you put on the gloves and boots, it should look all right."

Remy continued to frown at her. "Shirow wants to enroll at The Jean Grey School?" he asked.

"I wonder that he may not be better suited in a school with...other mutants," she said.

"What about de mutates in de Assassins' Guild?" Remy asked. "They could help train him up."

"I'd sooner give him over to the Hand," Zoe said bitterly. "No family of mine will become an assassin."

"And what does Shirow think?" Remy asked her.

"I do not know," Zoe responded. "I want what is best for him."

"I don't question dat," Remy said. "What is he, fourteen...fifteen?"

"He will be fifteen soon," she said.

"Eh, _bien_. And next year he'll be matched with a nice girl and two years from den he'll be in de Guild and wed and start a family of his own."

Zoe looked down at the floor. "I can't bear to think of it," she said.

"Just because it isn't de life you'd choose for yourself..."

"He's just a boy," Zoe said.

Remy stared at her face for several long moments before finally saying: "He's old enough now to start thinking for himself, Zoe. Let me tell you, life outside de Guild is not an easy thing. The things we think that protect us- intermarrying, de rituals, cutting off de outside world, de sponsorships... these things work against a person out dere. You find yourself without a family, where everyone is a stranger and no one understands you and you don't understand dem. You end up lookin' for someone with de answers instead of figuring out things for yourself. And God help you if you go lookin' in de wrong place. If you want to give him an opportunity, you need to start lettin' Shirow think for himself. Make his own decisions."

Zoe continued to stare at the floor. "You may be right," she finally admitted.

"Come again?" Remy asked.

"I think you're right," she repeated.

"Now dat's something I don't hear every day."

* * *

><p>Bobby was looking at himself in the hall mirror and adjusting his tie when Joanna emerged from her bedroom. They regarded each other for several long moments, each waiting to find out who would strike the first assault.<p>

"Nice tie," Joanna launched her attack. "A clip-on?"

"Nice suit," Bobby fired back. "Do they make them for women?"

Joanna's face darkened. "They don't make women's jackets in my size, okay!"

"Are you two at it all ready?" Logan asked as he paced down the hallway towards them. "A bit early, ain't it?"

Bobby looked at his wristwatch. "It's nearly 2 o'clock in the afternoon."

"We're on thief time now," Logan responded. "So it's mornin'."

"Don't you mean: '_mourning_'?" Bobby asked while gesturing to their black attire, pleased with his pun.

Joanna rolled her eyes.

Just then, Pierce emerged from out of nowhere, gliding forward as if he had ball-bearings on the soles of his shoes. He handed Joanna a feminine silk scarf to match her camisole then proceeded to Bobby. He jerked the end of Bobby's clip-on tie, which popped out of his collar. He replaced it with a real black tie. His hands moved like lightning, expertly fixing the tie into place with a smart knot. He then silently glided down the staircase without a word.

"I'm sure glad that guy's on our side," Bobby said, admiring his new tie.

"It's too bad that wasn't a noose," Joanna said.

The door at the end of the hallway opened to reveal a young Asian woman dressed in soft gray. Her short boyish haircut only served to emphasize her delicate feminine features. Bobby watched as Logan's face lit up with sudden interest. Joanna looked daggers at the woman. Remy appeared just behind her, dressed in a ridiculous outfit.

"Better hurry up, Remy," Bobby said. "Or you'll be late for the Hogwarts Express."

Remy frowned at him and the young woman looked puzzled. "What is he talking about?" she asked Remy.

"Don't mind him," Remy responded. "I don't understand half of what he says."

"Oh, come on!" Bobby cried. "Harry Potter! Maybe I should have gone with a _Lord of the Rings_ reference."

"Maybe I should add some contemporary fiction to de library," Remy considered.

"Where have they been hiding you?" Logan asked the woman.

"I have been avoiding family drama," Zoe explained.

"Smart woman," Logan responded.

Bobby glowered at Logan: "You _have_ a girlfriend."

"As do I," Zoe supplied. "Though I am no less pleased to make your acquaintance. Zoe Ishihara." She gave a little bow.

Joanna's expression changed from anger to puzzlement.

"You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend," Remy said to Zoe. "Who's de lucky lady?"

"I didn't tell you because it is none of your business," Zoe answered.

"Extra! Extra! Read all about it!" called a voice from the foyer below. They turned to see Emil down at the bottom of the steps flourishing a newspaper at them. He was outfitted in similar attire as Remy, but his shirt was red and gold whereas Remy's was green with scarlet. "Local hero dies in tragic accident!" He laughed and bounded up the stairs.

"And a very good day to you all, especially to you, _ma doucette_," Emil said to Joanna. "I bring you all de news dat's unfit to print!" He flattened the newspaper and held it up in front of his face. "'_Sheriff Alain Pollard, age 51, of de Jefferson Parish police department passed away last evening while battling a fire at a local historic home,_'" he read then laughed. "Whoever said 'truth is stranger than fiction' never read dis malarkey."

"Give me that!" Joanna said, snatching the newspaper away from Emil and looking at the front page. A portrait of Sheriff Pollard in his dress uniform stared back at her. She read the article, grinding her teeth in frustration. "It says he died of cardiac arrest while fighting the fire...! '_Police suspect arson_'! Damned right they should, since they did it!"

"Well, we all know what really happened!" Emil announced, pointing at Remy with both forefingers. He began to dance while singing: "_Psycho killer...qu'est-ce que c'est...fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa faaar better...run run run run run..._"

"Yeah, you'd better run," Remy told him.

Emil took a look at Remy's expression and gave a little yelp. He then turned and dashed down the staircase. Remy took a single stride across the landing, put his hands to the balustrade and vaulted over it to land in the foyer below, cutting off Emil's escape to the kitchen. Emil quickly reversed, feinted towards the sitting room, then bolted for the study. He yanked the door open and flew through the doorway, slamming the door shut behind him. Remy calmly walked after him, opened the door, and quietly closed it again.

From somewhere in the house came the sound of something crashing and Emil's cry for help.

"_M'aidez! M'aidez! He's crazy!_"

"CUT IT OUT YOU TWO!" Mercy screamed from the kitchen.

"I guess musical references are acceptable," Bobby remarked. "But Talking Heads is soooo thirty years ago."

"We are a little behind the times here," Zoe said. "But if there is anything other than music that our family appreciates more, it's food. If you would like to join me in the kitchen, Mercy has prepared breakfast."

"Thank goodness! I'm starving!" Bobby announced.

"That is practically a crime in this household," Zoe told him.

"Glad to hear _something_ is," Joanna said.

"Are you from Tokyo?" Logan asked as they descended the staircase and walked towards the kitchen.

Zoe nodded. "My brother and I are here under the protection of the New Orleans Guild. We are still...acclimating ourselves to their traditions. I find some of their customs to be-."

"Weird?" Bobby supplied.

"I will be more gracious and say: unusual."

They entered the sunlit kitchen to find it full of women. Mercy was again presiding over the kitchen countertop, pulling pans of muffins from the oven and setting them out to cool. She too was dressed in Guild uniform, the same green accented with red that Remy was wearing. The effect of her costume was somewhat upstaged by the apron she was wearing that was printed with little red lobsters.

"Breakfast in the middle of the afternoon?" Bobby said wondrously. "I am down with that!"

"Help yourselves, please!" Mercy said as she stirred a pot on the stovetop. She was drinking wine out of a lidless child's sippy cup.

There was a second woman at the kitchen sink. Or rather, a teenaged girl with honey blond hair and the expression of a much older woman on her face. Her eyes were somewhat sad and distant, but as she turned to look at the new arrivals, they widened with surprise. She quickly turned back to her work cleaning the dishes.

Two of Emil's children were at the kitchen table. The youngest was in a highchair pushing Cheerios around her tray and occasionally dropping one onto the floor where the dog was waiting hopefully. The second little girl was in a booster seat spooning Cream of Wheat towards her face. About half made it actually made it into her mouth. She was wearing a bib over her white dress, a strange choice for a girl so young and on the day of a wake.

The last woman was BellaDonna. There was a palpable tension in the air between Mercy and Belle, the former in her position of power ruling over the kitchen, the latter serving as the leader of the Unified Guilds. It was a toss up as to who was currently reigning supreme. Belle was sitting next to the smallest child, replacing the cereal the little girl dropped with pieces of muffin. Belle had a cup of milky coffee and a crumbled biscuit on a plate in front of her.

Logan regarded Belle for a moment, unsure of where he stood with the woman. Logan had met her, fought alongside her, and seen her die...or so they had believed. She had revived under somewhat mysterious circumstances. Rogue claimed the woman was unbalanced after her bout with death. Looking at her now, she appeared very much like a Botticelli angel, with her archaic clothing, heart-shaped face, blue-violet eyes and golden hair braided across the crown of her head. It was hard to believe someone so lovely and petite was a deadly assassin for hire.

The thought suddenly put to mind the image of his female clone X-23, Laura as she was named. Like Belle, Laura was also a trained assassin. Gambit had an attachment to them both. Belle and X-23 even smelled a bit like Gambit. Except that the scents Logan detected from Belle were more than protective brotherly affection. Though affection was definitely part of what he smelled. Logan shrugged it off. Gambit could do what he wanted to do. He was a grown man. An incredibly stupid one.

Belle nodded her head in greeting. "How nice to see you again, Logan," she said. Apparently, they were on good terms and the woman he saw before him wasn't about to sink a knife into his throat.

"Belle," he acknowledged. He felt eyes upon him and looked up to see the girl at the kitchen sink staring at him.

Bobby loaded a plate and began shoveling forkfuls of food into his mouth. "This is soooo good," he moaned.

Mercy looked at him, beaming with appreciation.

"You're a pig," Joanna said to Bobby, helping herself to a plate.

"I like a man with a healthy appetite," Mercy said, her voice laden with innuendo. She placed a muffin onto Bobby's plate.

"I'd avoid de biscuits, if I were you," Belle said.

Mercy glared at Belle with the intensity of a laser beam. Belle smiled smugly. "What did you say about my biscuits?" Mercy asked, her voice dangerously low.

"Just offering a friendly warning," Belle said cooly.

"De truce is over!" Mercy picked up a cast-iron skillet with both hands. "Dis means war, assassin!"

"Will you be using these as ammunition?" Belle asked as she picked up her biscuit and dropped it onto the floor. It landed with a clunk. The dog walked over and ate the biscuit in two gulps.

"You're a dead woman!"

The girl at the sink opened and closed her mouth a few times, glancing back and forth between Mercy and Belle. Finally she resolved to speak. "Are you related to Laura Kinney?" she asked Logan.

Logan looked at her with surprise. It was as if she'd just seen his thoughts. "In a round about sort of way," Logan answered.

Mercy set down her skillet and resumed her work at the stove, glowering at Belle all the while. Belle stared at the young woman.

The girl hesitated a moment before adding: "If you see her...could you tell her that I said 'hello' and that I'm-."

"Alice," Mercy said lightly. "Would you please take de girls into de dining hall wit' de others?"

Alice's mouth snapped shut and she obediently retrieved the baby from her chair and took the hand of the other child. She led them to the doors off the kitchen and passed through. Beyond they spied a dark wood-paneled room set with a long table. Young men and women sat at a silent meal. Alice closed the door behind her.

"She wasn't doin' any harm talkin' t'me," Logan told Mercy.

Mercy regarded him through her eyelashes, refusing to turn from her work.

"That girl isn't a thief," Logan continued.

"No," Belle answered. "She isn't. Y'got t'get to them young or they're completely useless."

"Alice isn't useless," Mercy said. "She's good wit' de little ones. And just because she's not a thief doesn't mean she don't have t'follow de rules. I don't want her to set any kinda...precedent."

"Yeah, Logan," Joanna said. "You're interrupting the cult brainwashing."

"Joanna...ix-nay on the ult-cay alk-tay," Bobby said out of the corner of his mouth.

"I don't know what Remy was thinking bringing _Les Autres_ here," Mercy muttered to herself.

"Maybe he thought none of the old-timers were left t'hold him to de rules," Belle answered, sipping her coffee. "Not that that ever stopped him before..."

Just then, Emil exploded through the back door. He had grass in his hair and there was a mark of dirt of his face. His boots were muddy and he left a trail across the kitchen floor. He folded over, panting with his hands on his knees. "Oh...oh, my God," he gasped.

"Emil!" Mercy shrieked, seizing the skillet again. "My floor!"

Emil bolted for the dining room just as Remy's shadow fell across the kitchen floor. When the dining room door slammed, Remy surveyed the kitchen's occupants. Rothko padded over to Remy, coughed and vomited two halves of a biscuit.

Remy regarded the dog, then looked at Belle. "Did you just poison my dog?" he asked her. A biscuit sailed across the room. "Ow! Mercy, quit throwin' rocks!"

* * *

><p>"Well, the adults seem to more than make up for the no-talking rule," Bobby said to Logan. "By sheer volume alone."<p>

"I don't like it," Logan said. They were gathered in the foyer, keeping out of the way of the arriving guests. Pierce was at the door, allowing visitors into the house.

"It could be worse," Bobby said diplomatically. "Mercy said most of the kids that aren't from the Guild families are from child trafficking rings or kids that Gambit picked up off the streets."

"And what makes Gambit think he's the one to decide to send these kids here?" Logan asked.

Bobby sighed. "I don't know, Logan. Who knows why Gambit does anything he does?"

"I'm startin' t'get an understandin'," Logan said, observing the guests. It was now late afternoon and the mourners were just beginning to arrive. They had seen several people earlier in the day who seemed to be affiliated with the Guilds or at least conscious of their existence. There were nurses just off their shifts wearing scrubs, members of the clergy, several men and women who looked a bit down on their luck. All of these people knew Tante Mattie in some way from her work at the hospice, the volunteer work with the church, the food pantry, and soup kitchen. If they thought anything strange about how the Guild members were dressed, they said nothing.

The sitting room was darkened and lit with candles. There was a bowl of water set beside Tante Mattie's shroud-covered form. Mourners would pass by the bowl and dip their fingers into the water, then touch the body's head or feet. Before long, the shroud was soaked through. Visitors would then speak with the bereaved, before Remy escorted them to the kitchen for a meal.

As the day drew to an end and darkness fell, members of the nine family clans that made up the Thieves' Guild began to arrive. They were easy to spot in their strange garb. The men led their wives and children into the house. Many of the women carried covered dishes and disappeared into the kitchen. Their long hair was braided or pinned up, their dress plain and without ornamentation. The children, dressed in white, paid their respects and then vanished into the study or dining hall. They could identify the men by family from the colors they wore and the crests on their cloaks. Both Remy and Mercy wore crests with a scarlet sun on a green field, Emil's had a pair of hares on a red field. There were also crests that bore a bird with a star in it's beak, an urn, an open book, a sheaf of wheat, and a pair of keys.

Most of the thieves ignored Logan, Bobby, and Joanna, but several looked at the trio with curiosity. There were some that looked at Remy with open hostility and thereby felt the other X-Men must be guilty by association. Remy was wearing the expression he usually wore while playing poker, a sort of bemused smile that meant he didn't care for anyone to know what he was thinking. It also made him look like an arrogant jerk. His face shifted to surprise when Pierce opened the door to admit another guest dressed in uniform.

"Nick Fury?" Logan looked askance at the Colonel.

Colonel Fury crossed the foyer to where the four X-Men stood. "Logan," he said, looking somewhat surprised himself. "You turn up in the strangest places."

"Speak for yourself," Logan responded, shaking the man's hand.

Fury then turned and dropped his hand onto Remy's shoulder who was now looking mildly anxious.

"Hey, kid," Fury said. "Sorry about your loss. Know what the gal meant t'you and J.L.. Sweet lady. I expected to see your old man here."

"Well, it's Opposite Day," Remy responded. "I'm here actin' like an adult, and Jean-Luc is off being irresponsible."

"Off where?" Fury asked.

Remy shrugged. "Dunno. Put out some feelers...nobody's seen him in awhile. Last person to was Uncle Stephen and I don't even want to start thinkin' about what dat means."

"Froggy'll turn up...always been able to count on him in the past," Fury said. "If I see him, I'll let him know you were lookin' for him."

Remy frowned at the nickname. "You can tell him he's a manipulative, lyin', stealin', son of a bitch while you're at it," Remy said.

"You don't mean that," Fury glanced sidelong at Remy, looking a little put out.

"The really mean half of me does," Remy said.

"How did you get yourself mixed up with the Thieves' Guild?" Logan asked Fury. "And how do you know this one?" He hooked this thumb in Remy's direction.

"Me and J.L. go back a ways," Fury said. "And this one and his rabbity little cousin owe me and the American taxpayers about a half-billion dollars between the two of 'em."

"What did you do?" Joanna asked Remy.

"Stole a jet," Fury supplied. "An experimental prototype. Highly classified."

"I only meant to borrow it," Remy responded.

"Well you returned it in pieces!"

"It flew crooked," Remy said.

"Yer head's on crooked," Fury said, slapping Remy in the back of the skull. "Anyway, it was almost worth it to see Froggy flip his wig when he found out his kid was about a mile up in the air. And I got to witness the hiding he gave you once we fished you out of that tree."

"Thanks for reminding me of that."

"You'd of gotten that and worse if it were up to me. Now where's that cousin a yours...the instigator?" Fury looked around, rubbing the knuckles of his fist.

"Runnin' if he knows what's good for him," Remy said.

"C'mon, Patch. Let's go hunt us a wascally wabbit," Fury said and he and Logan departed for the kitchen.

Several more guests arrived, mostly Guild members but a few others who were on speaking terms with Remy. First was an African American man and his cute girlfriend named Ginny; she hugged Remy for an inappropriate amount of time. Then there was a lovely but awkward-looking woman with long black hair who was accompanied by an older woman wearing a low-cut black top under her jacket. The older woman embraced Remy for an even longer and more inappropriate amount of time, and then grabbed his buttocks.

The raven haired beauty pulled the woman away, tugging her off of Remy while saying in her surprisingly low voice: "Knock it off, Gloria! I can't take you anywhere!"

Remy's cool veneer had disappeared entirely and he was looking traumatized at this point. "Maybe you should take a break," Bobby told him, hiding behind Joanna as Gloria gave him an appraising leer. "Haven't you had anything to eat yet?"

Remy wiped lipstick off his face with the back of his sleeve. "I'm fine-," he began, then paused. The door was opening to receive another guest. "On second thought, a break sounds good." Remy abruptly turned and walked down the hall towards the kitchen.

"Well, that was surprisingly easy," Bobby said, watching him go.

Joanna poked him in the shoulder and pointed to the door. Rogue was stepping into the foyer. She was wearing a dark dress, her hair loose under a black hat. She glanced nervously around the foyer until she spotted Bobby and Joanna. She crossed the floor to greet them. "Hey," she said quietly. "Everything going okay?"

"Boring until now," Joanna said. "That woman over there looks like she's going to murder you."

"Blond? Violet eyes? Looks like Tinkerbell?" Rogue asked, refusing to turn around.

"That's the one," Joanna said, a smirk on her face.

"Ah'm gonna pay my respects real quick," Rogue said. "Before Ah'm stabbed."

"Did you know Matilde very well?" Bobby asked.

"She done me a kindness," Rogue said. "She was a lovely woman. Where's Remy?'

"Kitchen," Bobby said, pointing. "You should go in after. There's so much food."

Rogue nodded and then entered the sitting room. Mercy appeared behind Bobby and Joanna. She looked after Rogue and pulled a face. "Dat's de one Remy bet his heart on? Seems like de risk is greater dan de reward," she muttered darkly. "Better t'stick with de matchmakers and have a sure t'ing than gamble your heart away."

* * *

><p>Remy dashed out the back door and across the outdoor patio. He cut through the weeds to make his way to the back of the old carriage house, which now served as a garage for Mercy's car and storage for the items they had boxed and hauled from Tante Mattie's house. Behind the garage was an old rabbit hutch that had been unoccupied since the day Emil had convinced Remy to help him free Emil's four-footed "cousins" and save them from the stew pot. Remy recalled taking swats for that caper, delivered by Tante Mattie which somehow hurt worse than when Jean-Luc carried out the sentence. The space under the hutch was cool, damp, and full of mosquitos. Remy kept them at bay by extending his powers out a bit.<p>

He felt guilty for fleeing the wake, for not paying Tante Mattie the respect she deserved by standing beside her in the sitting room with the other bereaved. His chest felt constricted and he forced himself to take several breaths. Seeing Colonel Fury there didn't help matters. Hearing him reminisce about his father Jean-Luc brought up feelings he was unwilling to confront right now. He wished he hadn't spoken about Jean-Luc the way he had. He'd never spoke a word against his father before and it made him feel ashamed. He wasn't sure where the sudden anger had come from. When he spied Rogue through one of the windows on either side of the front entryway door, he thought it best to make his escape before he said anything else he'd come to regret. It wasn't as if he could keep her away. Once she'd made up her mind to do something, there was no talking her out of it.

Remy felt rather than saw that another Guild member was nearby. It was a familiar sensation of being lightly touched on the shoulder by an invisible force that silently spoke: _I'm here_. It wasn't Mercy, he knew. She had a completely different vibe that screamed _I'm HERE _and_ fabulous!_ He hoped it was Emil and not Theo or Genard, who were less amiable. He decided to stay put until the other thief made himself known. A pair of legs appeared in front of him.

"Will you come out Remy, and spare an old man his legs?" a voice said.

Remy nearly jumped out of his skin. "Poppa?" he asked.

"De lyin', stealin', son of a bitch himself," his father replied.

Remy cringed. "You forgot manipulative," he said from under the hutch. "So you heard all dat?"

"I have ears in de house," Jean-Luc replied.

Pierce! Curse the man, Remy thought. Well, they didn't call him _Le Voix_ for nothing. Emil said that when Pierce was given the title of The Voice, they should have renamed the position The Blabbermouth. He was forever reporting their exploits to Jean-Luc and getting them into trouble. Remy reluctantly crawled out from under the hutch and stood to confront his father, half expecting the man to have the wooden spoon readied for tanning Remy's backside.

What he saw instead was that father's face had startlingly aged. His once light brown hair was now silver, his broad shoulders stooped. The sight made Remy's throat tighten. Jean-Luc had looked the same all the time Remy had been growing up. His timelessness had been a reassurance that Jean-Luc was not going anywhere. Seeing him as he was now sent a quick pulse of fear through Remy.

"So, you are surprised to see me?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Where have you been?" Remy said.

Jean-Luc's smile was grim. "_When_ have I been would be a more appropriate question," was Jean-Luc's answer.

Remy frowned.

"You're angry with me," Jean-Luc said. "I don't fault you."

"Why did you do it?" Remy asked. The last act Jean-Luc had committed before vanishing was to destroy the contents of a chest containing a Guild artifact, some kind of prophetic book that Remy had never seen but had to do directly with him. Jean-Luc had also gone to the trouble of having any electronic hospital records erased relating to Remy's birth.

Jean-Luc sighed and looked away. "What I've done is try to protect you," he said. "As I have your entire life."

"You've done a crap job," Remy said, wanting to snatch back his words as soon as they left his mouth.

Jean-Luc acquiesced. "You're right. I've done all I could and it was never enough."

"What are you trying to protect me from? Why can't you just tell me de truth?" Remy pressed.

"While Tante Mattie lived, I could not," Jean-Luc answered. "It would have destroyed her to have you think less of her, to hate her."

"What are you talking about? I could never hate Tante!" Remy said, the very thought startled him.

Jean-Luc shook his head sadly. "No matter, with her house gone dere's nothing left to hide. Her secret is safe, consigned to de flames. She can settle her debts with God. We bot' have a lot to answer for."

"_Stop it_!" Remy shouted, his pulse ratcheting. "How dare you speak of her dat way!"

Jean-Luc put out his hand to touch his son's arm. Remy shook him off and took a step back. "What do you know about de house fire? What secret burned?" His head was swimming, but one thought surfaced and filled him with dread. "Did _you_ sell de property? Did you auction off Tante Mattie's home?"

"I did," Jean-Luc admitted.

"Did you set Pollard on me?" Remy demanded hotly.

"No, Remy. I hoped dat would have been resolved before your arrival. You made unexpectedly good time, in spite of flight cancellations."

"I can't believe dis," Remy said wonderingly. "All dis for what, exactly?"

"I told you-."

"To protect _me,_ right? That's a laugh. Everyt'ing you do only serves de interest of de Guild. I'm just a tool t'you! T'unite de Guilds. To be a sacrificial lamb for some nonsense prophecy!"

"I'm afraid you're not entirely right, Remy," Jean-Luc said, his face unreadable in the darkness. "I've acted in ways that were entirely selfish at the expense of de Guild's best interest. I allowed my emotions to cloud my judgement."

"God forbid you let your emotions get in de way," Remy said bitterly.

"Your criticism is fair," Jean-Luc said. "I know I have been cold to you at times, distant. I thought it would be easier."

"Easier for you, maybe."

"In part," Jean-Luc declined his head. "But also for you. Should you ever come to the truth...It perhaps wouldn't cause you such pain if you weren't so...attached to me. Matilde couldn't help herself. She wanted nothing more than to dote on you."

Remy was finding it difficult to breathe, to swallow. He put his fingers through the wire mesh of the rabbit hutch and pressed his flesh into the wire, giving himself something to focus on other than his father's words.

"But as I see you as you are now, de person you've come t'be, I know I have done what needed t'be done. I only fear I've made you too like me. I hope you'll never be put in dis position, to have to sacrifice your own emotions...expense your own happiness."

"I am _not_ like you," Remy managed. "I'll _never_ be like you! An old man schemin' and talkin' riddles in de dark! Like some crazy-." He broke off his thought with an angry shake of his head. "You wanted to keep me at arms length...how about we shoot for further? How about you stay away from me entirely!"

"I'm sorry, son," Jean-Luc said after a long pause. "The only explanation I can offer to you is that I acted out of love. That what may seem madness to you is the act of a father who would do anything at all for his child."

Remy turned his back to Jean-Luc and pressed a hand to his ear. "I don't want to hear anything else you have t'say. No more answers that aren't answers a'tall."

"I'll speak no more," Jean-Luc said quietly. "And say good-bye."

Jean-Luc began to move away. Remy couldn't stop himself, he called out to Jean-Luc's retreating form: "Where are you going?"

Jean-Luc paused and turned slightly. "T'pay my respects t'de dead."

Remy watched Jean-Luc vanish into the darkness. Holding onto the hutch for support, he lowered himself to the ground. His chest ached. The effort to restrain his conflicting emotions threatened to overwhelm him. He felt something darker within him struggling to escape. He was tired, so tired, of holding it back. Tired of fighting it off. A part of him ached to just give in to it, to let it out and just watch everything burn as black as the thing inside him. But what would happen if he did? He clutched his skull to keep the halves of his mind from splitting in two. Suppose he gave in? Wouldn't it be a kind of relief? To bear witness the worst just to have it over with.

What was the worst that could happen?

* * *

><p><em>Next time: The worst that could happen. And a piece to the puzzle is found.<em>


	6. Time & Life Shook Hands

_Well that is that and this is this.  
>Will you tell me what you saw and I'll tell you what you missed<br>When the ocean met the sky.  
>You missed when Time and Life shook hands and said goodbye.<br>When the earth folded in on itself.  
>And said: "Good luck, for your sake I hope Heaven and Hell<br>Are really there, but I wouldn't hold my breath."  
>You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste death?<br>You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste death? _

-Ocean Breathes Salty, Modest Mouse

Bobby, Logan, Joanna, and Rogue were in the kitchen slowly eating themselves into a food coma and playing a game. They ate in a sort of desultory way of people who had all ready eaten their fill and were now eating just because food was available in abundance and just one more bite couldn't hurt. Most of the adult clan members were either in the sitting room or out on the patio talking, drinking, or smoking, so they could play their game in relative secrecy. The concept of the game was to tally up points for the number of words they could get one of the clan children to speak to them. One word was one point, though at first there was a spirited debate as to whether or not contractions counted as one word or two. It was finally decided that contractions counted as one point, but laughter got you a double word score.

Logan was in the lead with four points through no effort of his own. There was one boy who looked to be Zoe's younger brother who had approached Logan nervously and blurted out: "I'm a mutant too!" before an older boy appeared and steered the younger away.

Rogue had three points. She was holding the baby girl in her lap who apparently hadn't been instructed on stranger danger. They thought her name might be Charlotte or Charlene because there was a tag in the back of her dress that had been written on with a Sharpie marker. Two other names were written in ink and then crossed out, leaving only the four letters "CHAR" on the tag. Likely the dress had survived two sisters before being passed on to the baby. The baby was dozing with a pacifier in her mouth. She opened her eyes and mumbled: "_fais du pipi_," at which time she was quickly traded off to Alice for a diaper change.

Bobby was in third place when he got a small pretty child that could have been a boy or a girl to say: "Who's dere?" to Bobby's "Knock Knock." The child looked surprised at his or her own automatic response and the joke was never completed.

Joanna had one point for "Ow!" because she had accidentally trod on the foot of a child that was hiding behind the kitchen cabinets. It was quickly decided that no more points would be awarded for inflicting pain on the children.

The kids themselves, at least the younger ones, were becoming more and more curious and intrigued by the game. They peered around corners and giggled at the questions of "What's your name?" or "Do you like ponies?" and "Want to see something cool?" Soon the mourners began to depart with their children. There were still at least a few dozen kids left, those runaways, rescues, and strays who had no parents of their own.

The game was dismantled when Mercy appeared, looking exhausted. The remaining children vanished into the dining hall. She shook her head. "No lessons t'day..." she said. "They'll be climbin' de walls and runnin' wild with all dis time off."

"Well, what do you do with them on the weekend?" Bobby asked.

"What's a weekend?" Mercy asked.

"You're kidding. You have to be kidding," Bobby said.

Mercy shrugged. "Saturday is just another day, and Sunday is for Mass and reflection."

"When do they have time to just be kids?" Bobby asked.

Mercy stared blankly at him a moment before surveying the kitchen. Dishes of partially eaten food were on every available surface. "What a mess," she said tiredly and began pulling out storage containers and plastic wrap from the cupboards.

Bobby hopped up from his chair. "We can help," he told her.

"We can?" Joanna asked.

"No, no..." Mercy said distractedly. "You're...our guests. I can-."

"I insist," Bobby said. "After all, you've welcomed us into your house, let us sleep here, eat your food..." Bobby looked at the others. "Am I right, guys?"

"'Course," Logan said. "You take a load off," he told Mercy. "We'll get things cleared away."

Mercy looked at him gratefully. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Rogue said, joining Bobby at the counter. Joanna grumbled.

"Well, ain't you just the sweetest thing," Mercy said as she grasped Bobby by the shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. "Before long some lucky girl is gonna snap you up."

Bobby grinned and Joanna rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue.

"Maybe I'll just have a lie down," Mercy began and then looked around the kitchen. "Where's Remy?"

"We thought he was in the sitting room with you," Logan answered.

"No...I haven't seen him since-," she glanced at Rogue. "For awhile now." Mercy sighed and her shoulders slumped. "Ain't it just like him t'run off and hide."

"I'll track him down," Logan told her.

Mercy waved him off. "He'll turn up like he always does, with excuses and apologies. I'll be seein' you folks in de daytime. Thanks again." She turned and walked down the hallway.

Joanna balled up a piece of plastic wrap and threw it at Bobby. "Don't just stand there staring, idiot. Help clean up this mess."

The foursome began packing away the food and storing it in the refrigerator. Sometime after ten o'clock, teenagers appeared and began ransacking the leftovers, which took care of a lot of the work. They weren't talkative either but then their mouths were full. When they departed for the dining hall, they left the double doors open. Inside, the children were either eating, reading, or playing cards. They sat in groups of two or four or six, older children paired with younger. It was quiet. Not one kid texted, played video games, or argued. The X-Men had the distinct impression that every ear in the dining hall was pricked to hear their conversation. Alice joined them in the kitchen and began helping Rogue with the dishes.

"I hope you don't think Mercy's so strict," Alice was saying to Logan and she dried and put away the plates. "It's not so much as a no-talking rule as it is a keep-listening rule. They say: _Bouche ferme, oreilles ouverts..._Mouth closed, ears open."

"Ah've heard Remy say that to Rockslide multiple times," Rogue said. "Ah don't think it's stickin' with him."

"And how did you end up here? How do you know Laura?" Logan asked Alice.

"Laura helped me...she saved me from...," Alice swallowed nervously, "from Sinister. Laura doesn't know I'm here. No one does. Except Gambit. He gave me a plane ticket and an address and I ended up here. He told me I'd be protected. That Sinister wouldn't find me because there is a kind of power here that a man like him wouldn't or couldn't understand," she smiled weakly. "I don't know, it sounds like some kind of magic, doesn't it?"

"I'd like to know what would stop Sinister in his tracks," Logan said.

Alice shook her head. "I don't know if it's true or not. I'm not in the Guild. They are the ones with all the secrets."

"No kidding," Logan said, putting the last of the leftover food away. "Maybe I'll go flush Gambit out of whatever hole he's hid himself in and ask. C'mere, dog," he said to Rothko who was again under the kitchen table. The dog hopped to his feet and followed Logan out onto the patio.

It was nearly midnight when Logan and the dog started out into the backyard. Logan scented the air. There were plenty of scents from the guests crisscrossing their way across the patio. Beyond that, there were only two familiar scents. Remy and his cousin Emil. Emil's trail zigzagged across the yard and was several hours old. Logan traced a fresher scent towards to the garage. He stepped through overgrown weeds to the back of the garage with the dog bounding ahead. He found an empty rabbit hutch. The dog sniffed it with avid interest, then disappeared under the hutch. Logan thought that Remy couldn't have been gone from here longer than an hour or so. There had been one other man here as well, but Logan couldn't place the scent. The dog was sniffing around under the hutch. Logan crouched and looked at the dog. Rothko was scratching at the back wall of the garage. Standing again, Logan looked around. There was a large live oak tree nearby. The edge of the property was demarcated by a wrought iron fence. Beyond that was a canal.

From behind him somewhere in the distance came the sound of a large explosion. Logan felt the echo of the blast in his chest. Car alarms suddenly went off. The force rattled the windows of the carriage house behind him. The dog whined nervously. Logan looked towards the source of the noise, then walked to the tree. The live oak was spread in such a way that its mighty limbs lay across the ground. He could walk right into the tree, step up to its next limb, then the next. Several branches up, he found an old platform that must have once been a child's tree house. From the platform he scanned the horizon. A plume of smoke rose into the night sky. Now he could hear the sounds of police sirens and ambulances, the blare of a firetruck's horn. Logan felt a deep sense of dread. He dropped from the tree and began walking back to the house. The dog remained behind, whining and barking at Logan as he departed.

Logan found Bobby, Joanna, and Rogue on the patio. "What was that noise?" Rogue asked.

"There was an explosion," Logan said. "Some blocks away from here."

"An explosion?" Bobby repeated. "Did you find Gambit?"

"No..." Logan said. "His trail dead-ended behind the garage."

"Do you think we should go, see if we can help?" Bobby asked.

"Some Beemer is parked in front of my truck," Logan said.

"We can take mah rental," Rogue said. "Let's go."

They piled into Rogue's rental car and drove in relative silence. Logan could feel his trepidation growing. They followed a number of emergency vehicles on their way to the explosion. Rogue parked at a distance, traffic was blocked off for blocks around the accident site. They got out and walked. They found the block surrounding the explosion was barricaded and cordoned off with police tape. There were a number of onlookers gathered at the barricade. By the time the X-Men arrived, the firefighters had put out the blaze. The site of the explosion was an older two-story building with a stucco facade. Debris had exploded upward to come crashing down into the street. Emergency workers were helping accident victims. The firefighters and emergency workers were examining the wreckage, working to see if the building could be safely explored in search of survivors and victims.

There were camera crews and reporters gathering at the scene. "-Reporting from the site of the explosion which you can see behind me," said one reporter. "About an hour ago an explosion rocked several city blocks surrounding the Monbarren Funeral Home, where visitors had gathered to mourn the loss of local sheriff, Alain Pollard. As of yet, the number of casualties is unknown...however, many of Pollard's colleagues in the police department were in attendance."

Logan's blood ran cold.

"Logan?" Rogue asked, concern laced her features. "What is it?"

"Joanna and I will go around the block," Bobby told Logan. "To if we can see anything from the other side of the police line."

Logan nodded and he and Rogue made their way to the barricade, where uniformed officers were manning the line. The parish coroner's van arrived and the police waved the vehicle through after the debris was removed from the street.

"This is bad," Logan said, watching as EMTs began emerging from the wreckage. Some carried victims. Several emergency workers emerged with bodies. Men, women and children alike were carried from the building.

"Wolverine, tell me what's going on," Rogue said.

"Pollard..," Logan began. "The man had a heart attack. Can't say for sure if Gambit had a hand in him dyin'... But I can say he threatened to kill the men who were workin' with him."

"You can't think that Remy would-," Rogue began. They watched as a small body draped in a sheet was carried from the building on a stretcher.

Logan shook his head. "Don't know. He hasn't been entirely right since we've been here."

"Isn't that to be expected...when someone's died in his family?" Rogue asked.

"Some of the things he was sayin'...There were pills..." Logan began. "He had drugs on him, like a prescription."

Rogue looked surprised. "What pills?"

"Dunno...didn't ask. Seemed too personal. Thought if he wanted to share, he'd have come forward-."

"And when have you ever had the truth from him if it wasn't dragged kicking and screaming?" Rogue said hotly.

There was a shout from one of the EMTs and several people rushed forward, pushing a gurney. Two men lowered a figure onto it. Even from this distance they could see that the man was dressed in unconventional clothing. Rogue sucked in a breath and pushed forward. The gurney was quickly pushed towards the open ambulance doors. The flashing strobes of emergency lights showed a man dressed in green and black. Rogue leapt over the police barricade, heedless of Logan's or the police officers' calls for her to stop.

The man on the cot was badly burned, his skin black and red. Rogue could see that his hair had been scorched away, but what remained of it appeared white in the harsh lights. Emergency workers were pumping air into the victim's lungs. Rogue reached the man's side just as the end of the gurney hit the back of the waiting ambulance.

"Remy!" Rogue heard herself shriek. "No! No! NO!" She tried to seize the still figure's arm just as she was yanked back by emergency workers. "No! Let me go! _Please_!"

The man's head rolled towards her voice. His eyes opened. Blue eyes, not red. Rogue gasped as if punched in the stomach. "Jean-Luc?" she cried.

"Do you know this man?" one of the EMTs was asking her over and over again.

Rogue nodded her head, gasping and sobbing for breath. "Yes!" she answered and they released her. They were pushing Jean-Luc's still form into the back of the ambulance. She tried to scramble after but was held back. Jean-Luc looked at her, his breath fogging the ventilator.

"Ma'am!" shouted the EMT. "We have to take him to the ER! You'll have to follow us! Family members only!"

"I'm his...I'm his daughter!" she lied and pushed into the vehicle.

"In the front! Get in the front!" said one of the EMTs who was working on Jean-Luc. Rogue ignored him. Jean-Luc's eyes were clouding and distant.

"Jean-Luc," Rogue said. "What happened? Where's Remy?"

He exhaled. "Protected," he whispered. Then he was gone.

* * *

><p><em>Next time: A discovery and a confrontation with grief.<em>

_Thank you for reviewing my story...it's going to be a long trip so I hope you'll stick with me. I am at 150 pages and counting! If anyone would like to proof-read my sordid tale, please PM me. _


	7. Heal Myself

_Tell me all the things that you thought weren't right about me and my life  
>Tell me there's a way that I can shake this cloud and stand near to your light<br>I never wanted anyone to say that I have hidden myself in disguise  
>Please don't leave me lonely tell me all the ways to make myself right in your eyes<br>Yeah I try to heal myself  
>And turn around cuz someone else<br>But I can never _be_ myself... so fuck you_  
>-Heal Myself, The Cults<p>

"What was that noise?" A sudden low sound like thunder had shaken the building, setting the windows rattling and dust falling from above.

Remy paused in his rummaging through one of many cardboard boxes and listened. Thunder? Perhaps it would rain after all? There came a scratching noise from the back of the garage. He stood and walked around bits of newspaper and open boxes towards the sound. At the very back of the garage was a sliding wooden panel. At one time, they kept the rabbit food in the garage, pushing it out under the hutch during feeding time. The scratching was coming from the other side of the panel. Remy slid it aside and Rothko pushed his head through.

"Clever boy," Remy said, scratching the dog's neck. "You found me." Rothko wagged his tail and licked Remy's chin.

"What are we looking for again?" asked a second voice. Remy looked to see the girl named Ginny opening up a box. The man beside her was another friend, Jericho Drumm. Jericho was a tall powerfully-built African American man, handsome, with a white streak in his dark hair. He was also a pretty significant sorcerer. Currently, he was the sworn protector of the city of New Orleans who went by the name Brother Voodoo. When not balancing the mystic powers of the universe, he was also a psychotherapist. Remy had been carrying his business card in his wallet for some time now.

Remy walked back to where his two friends were sitting. "I'm not entirely sure," Remy told them. "I suppose I'll know it when I see it."

Jean-Luc had spoken about some secret hidden inside of Tante Mattie's house. One that had burned along with the rest of the house. In spite of all appearances, Jean-Luc wasn't omnipotent. What he couldn't have known is that Remy had had help cleaning out the house before the fire. Remy was as surprised as anyone that Logan, Bobby, and Joanna had appeared at Tante's door. There was no way Jean-Luc could have known they would arrive either, especially since they had driven in Logan's truck and not booked any flights.

Remy could only guess why the X-Men had come to New Orleans. For Bobby, it seemed simple. He'd do anything Rogue asked him to do. In fact, he did most _anything_ anyone asked him to. Joanna was dragged along mostly to get her out of the school until whatever ruckus she caused could be resolved. Logan did whatever he did for whatever reasons he had. Remy didn't like pry into the man's personal thoughts. And Rogue had likely orchestrated the whole thing because she couldn't stand not to be in complete control of any situation.

"No clues at all?" Ginny asked as she dug through to the bottom of a box.

"Some kind of information," Remy told her. "I figured if there's information t'be found, you'd be the gal t'call."

Ginny preened and Jericho raised an eyebrow at him. Remy thought Ginny a silly girl, very cute, but a bit too inquisitive for his tastes. She and her mother were experts in electronic espionage and had dirt on just about every significant person in the city. She also once had a very annoying crush on Remy, which had caused him a bit of grief until he'd put her off by suggesting she set her sights on someone else. Someone like Brother Voodoo, for example...who was a Doctor in both the medical and the mystical sense. What girl doesn't want to date a doctor? He had steered Ginny to Jericho mostly to get the girl out of his hair, but also as kind of a prank on Jericho. Remy supposed the joke was on him, since now they seemed to be an item.

"Oh!" Ginny said suddenly as she peered into the box. She lifted out a round drum-shaped container.

"What is it?" Remy asked.

Ginny opened the lid to the container, set the lid aside, and pulled out an enormous dark-purple hat. One of Tante Mattie's Sunday best hats that she wore to church. "It's a fabulous hat!" Ginny said. "It has to be at least from the 1940s if I had to guess! Isn't it beautiful?"

Remy smiled at her. "Why don't you keep it?" he told her.

"Really?" Ginny asked.

"Sure. Keep it. Tante wouldn't have wanted it t'go t'waste. On a pretty girl like you, it'd look mighty fine."

Jericho was now glowering at Remy. "You can't seem to help yourself, can you?" he asked. Remy shrugged helplessly.

Ginny sat the hat upon her head and turned to look at Jericho. "What do you think?" she asked him, grinning.

"Mighty fine, indeed," he replied. She glowed under his praise.

Remy pulled wadded up balls of newspaper to find a box full of books. He selected a hardbound book with no title. Opening it, he found it was all handwritten notes and careful drawings of different kinds of plants. It was one of Tante Mattie's books on the healing arts. This would certainly be of value, if he could find someone who knew how to use it properly. He flipped through it, letting it fall open to a well-used page dotted with spills and drips. Glancing at the words written there, he felt his eyes begin to water.

"Ah-choo!" He sneezed into his sleeve. Then sneezed some more. Remy quickly snapped the book shut and dropped it back into the box.

"There's an awful amount of dust in here," Jericho said.

Remy wiped his eyes on the hem of his cloak. "Here," he told Jericho. "Dis stuff might be interestin' t'you. Spell books on healing. Tante Mattie wrote dem herself."

Jericho walked over and took up the book. "This is some potent magic," he remarked. "Are you sure you're comfortable with me taking it?"

"I'd like t'think someone could get some use out of all Mattie's good work. Couldn't think of a better person to have it," Remy told him.

Jericho returned the book to the box, then removed a photo album from underneath the pile of spell books. "You might want to hang onto this. Wouldn't want it falling into the wrong hands."

Remy accepted the photo album and paged through it. There was the photo Joanna had taunted him with, the one of Tante Mattie holding him as an infant. There were also photos of other family members; Henri and Mercy on their wedding day, gazing at one another and smiling; Remy with his two cousins Etienne and Emil, arms on one another's shoulders, covered in exploded bits of watermelon; BellaDonna as a small girl, sitting on the back of a white pony; a fairly severe formal portrait of Jean-Luc and Remy, both looking unsmilingly at the camera.

Minnie closed the box she was exploring. "That's all the boxes, Remy. We didn't find anything."

"What about this one?" Jericho said, lifting the latch of a worn wooden trunk.

"That was just Mattie's coffee table," Remy said.

Jericho lifted the lid to find hand-knitted blankets, a stuffed dog, and a book. "There's this," he said handing Remy a well-worn copy of a children's book. Remy took it from Jericho's hands and stared at the familiar cover. _The Little Prince_, the book he'd stolen from the used book store's discount bin, the one he'd taught himself to read from. Even after figuring out what the words and pictures meant together, he still begged Tante Mattie to read it to him over and over again.

"I thought dis burned up," Remy said. He pressed his fingertips to his chest, over his heart where it hurt. The pain left him breathless. Jericho handed Remy a handkerchief he found inside the trunk.

"I didn't think a body could hurt so bad and still be alive," Remy said, his voice sounded strange to his own ears.

"You're more resilient than you think," Jericho told him. Ginny looked away, embarrassed at the display of emotion.

"Must be God dat gives me strength," Remy responded, "Dere ain't no way I could do dis on my own."

"Who says you have to?" Jericho said. "You've suffered a terrible loss. Draw strength from the people around you."

"I could've been a better son...the one she deserved t'have. I could have told her I loved her one last time."

"The nice thing about good mothers is that their love is unconditional," Jericho said. "Matilde seems like a pretty good mother. She knows you love her."

"She's the best mother anyone could've hoped for."

Ginny rearranged the blankets inside the trunk, neatly folding and replacing them. As she straightened one of the blankets, a package tumbled out and hit the bottom of the trunk with a hollow thud. She picked it up. It was wrapped in brown paper with white twine tied around the center.

"Look," she said, turning the package to face Remy. Two letters were written on the paper: _R_ and _L_.

Remy found himself frozen on the spot. He felt he recognized the handwriting, but couldn't say from where. Almost reluctantly, he extended his arm to take the package. Once it was in his hands, he stared at the twine paralyzed with the fear that the package would open itself. Somehow there was something familiar about it. He knew it had to be what he was looking for, what Tante Mattie and Jean-Luc were hiding.

"Well," Ginny said in a hushed voice, "aren't you going to open it?"

Remy swallowed, his throat was unbearably dry. Slowly he shook his head.

"What!" Ginny said loudly. "C'mon, Remy! We've been searching all night! Open it!"

"Gin," Jericho said. "What did I tell you about respecting other people's boundaries?"

Ginny pouted at him. "And what did _I _tell _you_ about you about talking to me like I'm a child?"

Jericho relented. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to condescend to you."

Her scowl melted away. "That's okay. You're right, I shouldn't have been so nosy. Force of habit. Sorry, Remy."

Remy looked back and forth between Ginny and Jericho. "Ugh," he said. "Please stop being so well-adjusted."

"But when you're ready, do you think you might share what's in the package?" Ginny asked hopefully.

"I make no promises," he said putting his copy of _The Little Prince _on top of the package. "Thanks for your help. I don't t'ink I could've gone through all this..."

Jericho stood, the box of spell books under his arm. "No problem, Remy. That'll be two-hundred and fifty dollars."

Remy smiled and pulled himself to his feet. "Bill my insurance."

"Since when do thieves have insurance?" Ginny asked, as they walked to the garage door.

Remy hauled the door upwards and the dog trotted out before them. "Thieves don't, but school teachers do."

"I'll be happy to help you meet your deductible," Jericho said. "Must be quite a sum when you moonlight as an X-Man."

Jericho and Ginny climbed into his white BMW and Remy waved to them as they backed out of the driveway. Remy reentered the house from the back doors and went upstairs to his room. The house was quiet. It was nearly dawn. By this time all good little thief boys and girls would be tucking themselves in to bed. Once in his room, he found that the suitcases the airline had lost had been returned. The clothes from inside had been neatly folded and placed into drawers, his black suit hung in the closet. Remy revoked his earlier curse on Pierce. He placed the package and his book on the desk. He removed his Guild uniform, walked out into the hall in his underwear, and stuffed the balled up clothing into the laundry chute, where it got stuck about halfway down. Good riddance, he thought. He retrieved his own clothing from where Pierce had neatly put it away. Remy shook out his jacket, which still smelled like smoke, and put it on.

Rothko followed Remy back down to the kitchen. The dog watched hopefully as Remy pulled open the refrigerator doors. Looking at the food stored inside, he realized he was starving. He couldn't recall the last thing he'd eaten. There was only the memory of the horrifying green-bean casserole from Tante Mattie's icebox, which was enough to put him off meals for a good twenty-four hours. Remy began selecting and eating things right from the refrigerator. He fed morsels of cold fried chicken to the dog who gulped everything down quickly and then wagged his tail gratefully. At least there was someone who appreciated him.

There was still a serving spoon stuck into a bowl of red beans and rice, so he ate that first. Mercy's biscuits may have been a bit overworked, but all in all she was an excellent cook. Others were critical of Mercy for being the first woman to become a Guild thief, seeing it as a purely masculine role. In spite of this, Mercy still stood by many of the traditional female responsibilities. She was house-proud and used to love to have Henri brag on her cooking. Remy wasn't sure if it was the quality or the quantity of the food, but he certainly started to feel a lot better than he had. He recalled Cecelia's admonition, and took his medication. Now he was in front of the sink, finishing off a second plastic storage container of food and staring out into the backyard. They really needed to do something with those weeds.

He heard voices coming from the foyer. He wondered who would be coming in through the front door. Rothko barked once and Remy shushed him. Logan, Joanna, Bobby, and Rogue came into the kitchen from the main hallway.

"Hey," Remy said around a mouthful of food.

The other four X-Men stared at him.

"Where the _hell_ have you been?" Logan finally asked.

Remy swallowed. "You're startin' t'sound like Mercy," Remy told him.

Logan swiftly strode to where Remy stood at the sink. "Answer the question!" he demanded, pointing his finger at Remy's chest.

"Heh. Now you're channeling Cece-."

Logan seized Remy by the front of his jacket and Remy dropped the container and spoon onto the floor. The dog was staring at Logan, a low growl in his throat.

"Where were you!" Logan yelled. Rothko snarled. Logan silenced him with a glare.

"_Arr__ête_!" Remy responded. "Stop it! What's de matter wit' you! I've been here! Where else would I be?"

Logan released him roughly and drew back. "You've been here...this whole time?"

"In de garage...goin' through some...stuff," Remy responded.

Rogue walked forward. Her clothing was rumpled. Her hair was a wild tangle, like it used to be when he first met her. Back when she flew through the air punching things out of the sky. His heart flipped over in his chest. Her expression looked strange. Sad and guilty and afraid. "What's wrong?" he asked her. "What happened?"

"Maybe you should sit down," Bobby said from the hallway entry.

Remy's eyes flicked to each of the other X-Men's faces. "Let's go," Logan said, taking Remy's arm more gently this time. Logan began leading him toward the dining hall when Remy came to a halt and refused to be moved.

"What is dis...an intervention?" Remy asked. "Let go a'me."

"Something's happened," Logan said. "You need to have a seat. Maybe a drink."

"What is it? Where's Mercy? Did something happen to one of de kids?" Remy asked, gripped by a sudden panic.

They had herded him into the dining hall. Rogue spoke: "It's your daddy."

Remy's face went still. "What happened? Did Belle start a ruckus when he showed up?"

"N—No..." Rogue began. "He never showed up here. He was-Remy, Ah'm so sorry. Jean-Luc died. He's gone."

Remy looked at her quizzically. "No he's not," he said. His own voice sounded distant. Even though Rogue was standing right in front of him, she seemed very far away. As if she'd receded down a tunnel and was calling to him from a great distance. "I just spoke wit' him. He was just dere-." Remy pointed towards the kitchen window to the yard beyond.

Rogue had tears in her eyes now. She shook her head sadly. "He was killed, Remy. Ah was with him when he died. In the ambulance on the way to the hospital."

None of her words made any sense. He stared off over her head, looking at but not seeing the dining hall around him. Jean-Luc was just there. Talking with him in the yard by the rabbit hutch. He said he was going to the calling hours, to pay his respects. He should be there, up in his room and study. Only Remy knew Jean-Luc wasn't in his own room because that's where Remy was staying. Maybe Pierce put him up in a different room? That would be strange. Jean-Luc in Remy's old room and Remy in Jean-Luc's room. Opposite Day.

"Remy...? Remy, would you sit?" Rogue asked him.

"Okay," he told her and sat in a chair. Things seemed to be moving in slow-motion again. He moved to put his hand on top of his head, but realized that he would probably look pretty strange doing that.

"There was an explosion," Rogue told him. "At the funeral home nearby. They were having calling hours for..." she paused and looked at Logan.

"Sheriff Pollard," he finished. "The fire department says it was a gas leak, and suspect foul play. The whole place went up, and everyone in it. The Sheriff's family... some of the guys from his department. Your father was there."

"Why would he-," Remy shook his head slowly. The act made the room revolve around him. He put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands to stop the spinning.

"Ah'm really sorry," Rogue said, putting her hand on his arm. She was in a chair beside him, her face was very close to his own.

"Wh-why?" Remy asked, but was unsure of what he was asking. "How did you-why were you at Pollard's calling hours?"

"We heard the explosion and went to help," Bobby said. Remy looked at him, then looked at Logan. Logan's face told a different story.

"You thought I did it," Remy said quietly.

"Explosions are kind of your thing," Joanna said.

Remy stood up abruptly. "Yes...I see."

"Remy, please," Rogue began. "Just sit down and we can talk."

"I can't talk t'you right now. I have t'go," he pulled himself free from her grip and tried to walk past Logan and the others towards the back door. Logan stepped into his path, blocking the exit.

"Move out of my way," Remy told him.

Rogue's hand touched his back and he flinched. "Why are you still here?" he snapped, spinning on her. "I told you I didn't want to talk t'you! Can't I make myself any clearer? Stay away from me!"

Rogue withdrew her hand and stared at him, her expression hurt. Good, he thought. Let her feel even a fraction of the pain I feel when I have to look at her.

"You can give us fifteen minutes," Logan said to him, "to explain to us what the hell is going on with you."

"I could explain for fifteen _years_ and it'd never be enough!" Remy shouted at Logan.

Remy felt a sudden fury which must have flashed across his face like lightning. He experienced several reckless impulses at once; one, to attack Wolverine knowing full well that the man would not hesitate to retaliate. The second was to strike at them with the truth, any horrible truth, that would explain to them how he had come to this point. To stab them in the chest with it like a knife, to hurt them, to make them sorry they'd ever asked. Knowing this too would have repercussions, that he'd be throwing everything away with both hands, pushing them out of his life forever. On some level he realized these actions were self-destructive, and even with that knowledge it was almost impossible to stop himself. He tried to remember what he'd learned to prevent such a thing from happening. _Push away:_ remove himself from the situation..._Distraction: _a physical sensory overload to force his thoughts along a different path..._Relaxation_..._Prayer_... Only there was no escape, no distraction, and even breathing was becoming difficult. It was a struggle to swallow his fear in order to speak.

"I...need...you to give me a moment...by myself," he said slowly, barely moving his lips to speak. His words were stiff and came out of his mouth in staccato pattern, each one picked carefully. "You can give me a half-hour, and then you can ask me whatever you want. I am going for a walk. You can give me that much, and come find me if you want. I won't get far."

Logan was prepared to respond when Bobby put his hand to Logan's shoulder and tugged. "Just let him through," Bobby said.

Logan relented and Remy was able to angle past him through the door. Remy's eyes briefly met Bobby's, then turned to look at Joanna. She saw something in his expression that made her look away. Remy walked through the kitchen and out the back door.

He began walking without direction. He _did_ want to talk to someone, but not have to _explain_. Someone who understood the Guilds, who knew Tante Mattie and Jean-Luc and what they meant to him. Someone who would sympathize with his need for a new life with the X-Men. Someone who knew about the doctors and the pills. A person who wouldn't scold him, humiliate him, or judge him. He couldn't think of a single person who fit the description. No one alive anyway.

* * *

><p><em>Next time: Something completely different...Gambit and Iceman: Partners in Crime!<em>

_Fun Fact: Rothko is named for Mark Rothko, an abstract expressionist painter. Gambit once told Archangel that he hadn't stolen his Matisse, that he preferred Cezanne. In Gambit/Wolverine Victims Mini, Gambit knicks a painting that looks a bit like a Picasso. I figured he likes modern art...so why not have him steal a Rothko?  
><em>


	8. Roll Away Your Stone

_Roll away your stone, I'll roll away mine  
>Together we can see what we will find<br>Don't leave me alone at this time,  
>For I am afraid of what I will discover inside<br>Darkness is a harsh term don't you think?  
>And yet it dominates the things I seek.<em>  
>-Roll Away Your Stone, Mumford &amp; Sons<p>

Bobby had an idea in his mind of what New Orleans was supposed to look like. For one, there was Mardi Gras which meant one big party, strings of beads, and girls with no tops on. There was Bourbon Street and the bars, drinking Hurricanes in the street, and tourists. Then there was music, and wizened jazzmen on street corners busking for coins. And it was supposed to be mysterious with voodoo priestesses, people dancing around with snakes, and vampires popping out of crypts.

Except Bobby had yet to see anything of the sort. Except for the crypts. There seemed to be plenty of cemeteries in this neighborhood. He was in a part of town made up largely of residential houses painted in bright tropical colors. Lush, well-established trees and plants shaded the sidewalks and lawns. People of all cultures, races, and creeds lived and worked and played here. There was a smattering of small businesses frequented by the quirky locals. Churches were on nearly every street corner. People who passed him on the sidewalk nodded and smiled and said hello. Bobby was a native New Yorker, and people generally avoided eye-contact there, so all of this was really weird.

Bobby didn't have much time to spend looking at all those crypts. He could only catch glimpses of the Cities of the Dead as Rothko pulled him down the sidewalk. He'd fashioned a leash out of a belt which he'd looped through the silver ring on Rothko's collar. Bobby stumbled to a halt when Rothko suddenly stopped. He rubbed his bicep as the dog looked back at him, his long pink tongue lolling out of his mouth.

"Would you slow down?" Bobby asked him. Bobby looked around at where they'd stopped. They were in front of another cemetery, Metairie Cemetery, which won hands down as far as weird things he'd seen so far. Even from this distance he could see all sorts of fantastical statuary, enormous monuments, and decorative crypts. It was a sea of white marble and green copper. As he stared, a group of joggers thundered past into the cemetery. Rothko took the opportunity to bolt forward and the slack leash in Bobby's hand slipped from his grip.

"Oh, sh-! Rothko! Come back!" he called and began running after the dog.

He ran for several yards before he became more and more distracted by the surrounding mausoleums and crypts. There were urns, and angels, and obelisks, animals, pyramids, and a sphinx. Each new tomb was more elaborate than the last. He passed a memorial with a life-sized weeping angel inside. It was lit with a surreal blue glow from the stained glass window above. There was another of a mysterious bearded man, his finger held to his lips as if to hush passers-by, or to warn them to keep a secret. Bobby jogged halfheartedly after Rothko, staring open-mouthed at the monuments.

"So...freaking...weird..." he said.

Just then, he heard an excited bark. He looked away from the statue of a young girl, her marble hand poised to knock upon the door of the crypt. Bobby saw Rothko's tail waving like a flag as he disappeared behind a row of tombs.

"Hey!" he called, and then renewed his chase. He rounded the corner of a mausoleum and came to a halt in front of a statue of a weeping dog. "You're not Rothko," he said to it. He was answered by another bark.

In the next row over, he saw Rothko looking at him and wagging his tail. Remy was laying on the ground in the shade of a tomb, his head resting on the marble base. He was wearing sunglasses and looked as if he were sleeping, hands resting on his stomach with his fingers laced together. The dog eagerly ran over and licked Remy's face until he moved and pushed the dog away. Remy sat up, wiping his chin on the sleeve of his jacket. Rothko ran jauntily back to Bobby as if to say: _I found him!_

Bobby kept the path between himself and Remy, not quite knowing what to expect. He rarely had ever seen Gambit really angry. He'd seen him irritated, annoyed, upset, even miserable. But usually, he just sat there with an ironic smile on his face like he saw everything as one big joke. Bobby found it insufferable. But now he'd seen Gambit truly angry twice in two days. First with Pollard where he looked positively maniacal, and again just an hour ago. It was not an unscary thing.

Right now, Remy's expression was unreadable behind his sunglasses. Bobby could still feel him staring at him though. "So you drew de short straw, then?" Remy asked, sitting splay-legged in front of the tomb.

"Logan and Rogue argued about it for awhile, but they came to the conclusion that I'm the one that you hated the least," Bobby replied.

The corners of Remy's mouth turned downward. "I don't hate you. I don't hate anybody."

"Really? You don't hate Rogue?" Bobby asked.

"Of course not," Remy answered.

"How about Logan? You looked pretty ticked off back there."

"No. I'm fine now."

Bobby took a small step to the edge of the path. "What about that Pollard guy and his pals?"

Remy shook his head. "Not enough to kill dem."

Bobby was on the path now, looking down at Remy. "Okay...how about...Magneto?"

"Seems like a waste of time t'hate someone who could care less what I thought," Remy answered.

"Sinister, then. You have to hate that guy."

Remy thought for a moment. "It's hard to hate someone when you live in holy terror of them. Look, what's de point of hating someone when you're de only one who feels the pain of dat hate? You have t'let it go, otherwise it eats you up inside, and you end up like Pollard. A bum ticker and nothin' to offer anyone but pain."

"Really? So you're what...going to forgive and forget?" Bobby asked. Remy looked up at him from where he'd propped himself up on his elbows.

"Haven't you ever heard:_ 'to err is human, t'forgive is divine'_?" Remy asked after a moment.

"Uhm, maybe rings a bell...?" Bobby said.

"Maybe if you read Pope instead of Potter..." Remy began. "But it was Christ dat told us to forgive one another. We've been gifted with de ability to forgive, t'better know de mind of God."

Bobby stared at Remy.

"What?" Remy asked.

"It's just that I've never heard you talk this way," Bobby said, uncomfortably.

"I'm occasionally articulate," Remy answered. "And people usually get all awkward when you talk t'dem about faith and God. And things are awkward enough wit' me."

"Yeah," Bobby said, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking away. "But don't you think there are things that are unforgivable?"

"I have to believe dat with repentance it's possible to be," he answered.

Bobby hesitated, growing increasingly nervous about this conversation. "Why do you suppose your father was at the funeral home?" Bobby asked.

Remy pushed his sunglasses up off his nose to rub his eyes. "He told me he was going t'pay his respects. I assumed...wrongly-that he was goin' in t'see Tante Mattie. I should've stopped him."

"Could you have guessed he'd have gone to Pollard's calling hours instead?" Bobby asked.

Remy lowered the dark lenses back over his eyes. "I dunno. He and I had words. When I think on what I last said t'him..." he broke off, and looked away.

"It could have been just an accident," Bobby said.

"You don't know my father. Nothing he does is an accident. He was there for a reason. My guess is that it would be de easiest way t'take care of Pollard's crew, before they began jockeying for position. I thought I knew what motivated Jean-Luc...now I'm not so sure. I thought I knew where he'd draw the line...I was wrong."

"Well, I guess you got me beat on 'Daddy Issues,'" Bobby said.

"_C'est vrai_," Remy responded, looking at the dog who had settled down alongside him.

"What are you doing hanging out in a graveyard?" Bobby asked.

Remy turned and craned his neck to look at the crypt behind him. It was less ornate than many of the others, decorated only with a crowned sun. "Just talkin' t'my brother," he responded. The frieze below the pediment read: LEBEAV. "He was always good at listening."

Bobby stared at the crypt. There were several names carved on marble plaques with birth and death years. Jacques LeBeau, who had died in the early 1900s. Beneath Jacques was Jean-Luc's name with a given birth year in the late 19th century. Bobby had a bit of trouble figuring that out, since that would make him well over a century old. Henri LeBeau was below Jean-Luc, with birth and death dates that would have made him in his fifties when he'd died. Remy's name was beneath Henri's.

"Don't you think it's strange seeing your name on a tomb?" Bobby asked.

Remy sat up and crossed his legs. "We've got a different way of looking at death here," Remy replied, picking at the grass. "When you live every day with your own mortality staring you in de face, it's not so scary. It's easier t'come t'terms with it."

Bobby pointed at Remy's birth year. "That can't be right," he said. "There's no way you're younger than me."

"Are you sayin' I look old?" Remy said, the corner of his mouth hooked upward. "Or are you just mad you ain't de little baby brother of de family anymore?"

"I haven't been the baby in years!" Bobby said, his arms extended out to his sides. "Anyway, everything here is upside-down. The police are criminals...the criminals run the city...the dead are buried aboveground...! Everything here is just..._weird_!"

"With everything you've experienced as an X-Man, I suppose dat's sayin' something," Remy said. He scratched the top of the dog's head. After a moment he said: "Want to see something _really_ weird?"

"Not really," Bobby said.

Remy lifted himself from the grass to sit on the base of the crypt. He leaned back against the marble wall behind him, covering his name. "Used t'be we'd bring our girls here on dates," Remy told him.

"How romantic," Bobby said.

Remy smiled at him. "De marble stays cold, and when you have no air conditioning, you look for a comfortable place to go make out."

"That's actually kind of clever in a disturbing sort of way," Bobby said. "But not very respectful of the dead person you're making out on top of."

"I wouldn't mind seein' some action after I'm dead," Remy said.

"You freak me out sometimes," Bobby told him. "Okay, so show me this weird thing."

Remy bounced to his feet. "Follow me," he said, walking away from the family crypt.

Reluctantly, Bobby trailed after him. They walked over several rows through the cemetery. Remy came to a halt in front of a white marble Greco-Roman statue of a man. The statue was larger than life, and mounted on a pillar so you had to look up at it. The man was of indeterminate age, with a face and gaze like that of a Caesar. He was even dressed in a Roman fashion, with a cape draped over a breastplate and leather skirt, his legs bare save for sandals. The marble statue held its hand out in a benevolent way as it looked nobly into the distance. "Okay, so what's so weird about it?" Bobby asked. "I've seen stranger."

Remy beckoned him closer. "Stand here," Remy instructed.

Bobby stood as directed. "Yeah?"

"Okay, now look up."

Bobby looked. Right up the skirt of the statue. "Oh, God!" he said, clapping a hand over his eyes. "That's appalling!"

Bobby hastily backed up from out of the shadow of the indecent statue. Remy pushed his sunglasses up onto his head and laughed.

"That guy must think a lot of himself," Bobby said.

"He erected it as a tribute to his own vanity," Remy replied with a smile.

"Please don't say the word 'erect.' Who is this creep?" Bobby asked, looking at the base of the statue for a name.

"We called him The Antiquary," Remy said.

"So what does that mean? He liked to go antiquing?"

Remy shook his head slowly. "No, he was a...collector. But y'can see he had a fondness for de Roman way of things."

"Okay, so he liked to collect ancient history," Bobby said.

"Not so ancient," Remy replied. "Not when the members of your family trace their roots back to Gomer."

"The only Gomer I know is Gomer Pyle."

Remy shook his head. "No, Gomer son of Japheth."

"Not helpful."

Remy sighed. "Japheth son of Noah."

"Noah?" Bobby asked incredulously.

"You know de guy...with de ark and the animals and the two-by-two..." Upon seeing the blank look on Bobby's face he continued: "An ark is a really big boat-."

"I know what an ark is!" Bobby said.

"Okay, well, then you get an idea of how far back our traditions might go then. And the Roman way is new when you compare it to Celtic Gallic culture of de Guild's ancestry."

"The Celtics are Irish, not French," Bobby replied. "Because their team jerseys are green and gold with a four leaf clover."

Remy folded his arms. "Nooo...and it's _Kell_-tic, not _Sell_-tic. Celtic Gaul extended from Britannia down through France and Belgium on into Greece and what is now modern-day Turkey. Gaul was sacked by the Roman Empire in 50 BC, and most of the Gauls were either killed or enslaved. Everyone else was assimilated into the Roman way of doing things, except for what is now the Thieves' Guild. They're basically all that exists of an ancient druidic culture."

"You've got to be joking," Bobby said dryly.

"Y'all wanted me to explain myself," Remy said.

"I didn't expect a history lesson!" Bobby exclaimed. "I certainly didn't expect that the boat your family stepped off of was an ark! Or that there were druids involved! _Druids_! At least that explains your weird clothes."

"Our Guild was influenced somewhat by the Greeks, at the very least when it came to textiles. We should all be thankful we're not wearing animal hides."

"I thought you guys were like, super Catholic," Bobby observed.

"We were converted by Paul...The apostle," he clarified. "And a lot of de rituals are de same."

"But then there's this guy!" Bobby said, pointing to The Antiquary. "Who thinks he's Caesar!"

"He _is_ a Caesar," Remy replied. "A descendant of one, anyway."

"Oh for-!"

"I told you the Gauls were taken as slaves, the women and children. Rome respected de ferocity of the Gallic fighters so much, they executed them on the field of battle rather than enslave them. Caesar got himself a few lady slaves... Well, like I said, Gaul was assimilated, one baby at a time. The Guild kept itself apart and hidden, to preserve the old ways and the knowledge. Eventually, there were some Romans who came over to our way of thinkin'. But they were more soldiers than scholars. They eventually became the Assassins' Guild. They did the protectin' and the Thieves' Guild did the studyin'. And eventually there came a division between the two, and the fighters and the students have been at each others' throats for centuries over de best way t'do things."

Bobby stared. "That sounds a bit familiar..." he began. "Is that why you left Utopia for the school?"

Remy seemed caught off guard. "Wha-I...," he began. "I guess I never really thought about it."

"So is all this what they taught you in Thief University over there?" Bobby said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the LeBeau home.

"Among other t'ings," Remy said. "Like history, philosophy, art, architecture, music, math, science..."

"And don't forget picking locks, climbing in and out of windows, crawling through air ducts, and robbing people blind," Bobby commented.

"Yes, that too. But what use is that if you don't even know what it is you're stealin'?"

"Does it help your victims to know they are getting robbed by a higher class of criminal, an educated one?"

"I suppose not," Remy replied, leaning back against the statue. "Mebbe I should've had Mercy explain all dis t'you. You wouldn't have been such a jerk to her."

"_I'm_ not a—-," Bobby began. "Okay. Fine. I'm a little tired. And also it's really hot, so I'm cranky. So, you learned all of that and managed to be a thief too. No wonder you guys don't get weekends."

"No, no weekends," Remy said, "or Spring Break. Jean Grey School is a cake walk. And they're whinin' about de toilets spewin' lava every once in awhile. We're supposed t'start studying as soon as we can hold a crayon."

"Well, that doesn't sound like much fun," Bobby said.

"I had fun on occasion. I got a later start than most."

"Did you get special privileges?" Bobby asked. "For being Le Dee-Abla Blonk?"

Remy sighed. "No, I was stuck under The Antiquary's care," Remy said pointing up at the statue. "Somehow he got de impression I was an idiot. Don't know what gave him that idea. Maybe he thought I was just another pretty face."

"I thought you grew up on the streets?" Bobby asked.

"I did, but I didn't start off there. The Antiquary paid t'have me stolen...or kidnapped...when I was an infant," he began. "I lived wit' him until I was five or so, I don't really recall. I was glad to be away from him in any case. The Antiquary felt dat since I was bought and paid for, he could do as he pleased wit' me."

Bobby's discomfort with the conversation intensified. He thought he might have understood what Remy was telling him but really didn't want to. "Well, I hope he kept the receipt!" Bobby blurted out. He felt his face turn red. _Dammit!_ he thought. _Foot-in-mouth takes another victim!_

Remy pinned Bobby with a stare.

"Oh...Um...I'm-sorry!" Bobby said.

If anything, Remy's gaze became more intense and his eyes lit with an inner glow. The enigmatic expression on his face transformed into realization. He broke into a smile. "A receipt!" Remy said suddenly. "Why didn't I think of it? _Super_!" His exclamation sounded like: _Sou-pare_! to Bobby's ears.

Bobby stood there looking perplexed. He'd really thought for a moment that Remy was going to throttle him.

"Robert, you're a genius!" Remy said, suddenly enthusiastic. "And I thought Hank was de smart one!"

"Hank_ is_ the smart one," Bobby responded. "I'm the funny one."

Remy made a skeptical face. "I thought you were the dorky one."

"No, that's Scott you're thinking of," Bobby responded.

"No, no I'm pretty sure it's Jean that was the funny one," Remy said. "I got all her jokes."

Bobby was getting irritated. There was no way that Jean was funnier than him. "Jean was the pretty one!"

"I thought that was Warren."

"Okay. You got me there."

Remy shook his head. He rubbed his hand across the stubble on his chin and looked down. "Gettin' in is a two person job, at least," he muttered to himself.

"What's that?" Bobby asked.

"Mebbe I could convince Emil...he's talked me into going along wit' plenty of his hare-brained schemes b'fore..."

"What scheme?" Bobby asked louder.

"No...it's too dangerous. I could get him in real trouble if we were found out..." Remy continued. "I can't risk him getting into trouble on account a me."

"Hey! What are you talking about?"

Remy looked at Bobby absently, still absorbed in his own thoughts. "I have t'break into de Velvet Ministry," he said.

"The what now?" Bobby asked.

Remy shook his head dismissively. "Our Guild archives," he said. "Dere's information dere I need. But I won't be able to get to it so easy."

"Well. Maybe I can help."

Remy regarded him skeptically, his eyes looking Bobby over. Suddenly, he came to a conclusion. "You _are_ de smart one!"

"Hank will be in for a surprise."

"You're perfect!" Remy added. "Y'think you're up for a little B and E?"

"I'm not going to a bed and breakfast with you."

"No, not BEE and BEE. BEE and _EEE_, as in: breakin' and enterin'!"

"Oh," Bobby said, and suddenly he imagined himself suspended from wires, Ethan Hunt style, while performing high-tech theft and espionage. "Sounds awesome!"

Remy beamed at him. "Great!" he said, pulling out his cellphone to check the time. "We don't have much time...We'll have t'go now."

"Shouldn't we change?" Bobby was envisioning himself in black Kevlar. It went great with the wires. Maybe a cool headset too.

Remy looked at him. "No, you're fine as you are. Cheap rumpled black suit, tired expression... Yeah, dat's perfect. Can you look a little _more_ like an accountant? Like, I dunno, glasses or something?"

"What?" Bobby asked, and his dream scenario vanished.

"You're right, I guess you can't. Dat's okay. Can you do a British accent?"

"'Ello, guv'nah! Pip, pip, cheerio!" Bobby said.

Remy cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Nope. Nevermind. Your usual New York accent should be fine."

"I don't have an accent," Bobby said.

"Yeah, you do," Remy responded.

"I do _not_!"

"Sure. Say: carport," Remy asked.

Sensing a trap, Bobby responded: "No!"

"Do it!" Remy commanded, pointing at him. "Say 'carport'!"

"'Carport.' There, I said it."

"No, say it how you normally say it."

Bobby sighed, defeated. "Okay. Fine. Cah-pawht. Happy now?"

Remy laughed. "Doesn't even sound like English!" he crowed. "_Cah-pawht!_"

"Okay, you've made your point."

"Not so funny when someone's makin' fun of your accent, is it, New _Yawk_?"

"Didn't you say we don't have much time?" Bobby asked.

"I just need t'get a few things, but we're good t'go."

"What about the dog?" Bobby asked, pointing to Rothko.

Remy looked at the dog. "I need him. I could use an extra pair of eyes, as a lookout."

"I thought that was my job," Bobby complained. "I thought we were going on a heist."

"Don't be ridiculous. _I'm _going on de heist," Remy said. "The dog is de lookout."

"What am I supposed to do?"

Remy smiled. "You're the diversion."

* * *

><p>"What is this place?" Bobby asked. They were standing across the street from a sprawling brick Greek Revival home with bright white columns and black shutters at each of the tall windows. It had a large front porch and balcony on the second floor. The house was surrounded by a decorative but tall wrought iron fence. The walkway leading to the front of the home was blocked by a gate that stood between two tall marble pillars.<p>

"Dis is The Velvet Ministry," Remy told him. "It's where de Guild scholars live, where we keep all de knowledge and history of de Thieves' Guild."

The house was a stark contrast to the LeBeau family home; opulent and pristine whereas the LeBeau home was spartan and worn. "Fancy digs," Bobby said.

"Yeah, de lap of luxury...," Remy said, staring at the house.

"Why is your guys' house so...well, not so fancy as this?"

Remy turned away from the mansion. "We've pledged ourselves to a life of simplicity and near-poverty, taking only what we need t'live. Food, clothing, a roof over our heads. To make up for de sin of theft."

"Seriously?" Bobby asked, looking at Remy. "But what about all the stuff you steal? What happens to it?"

"Used to be we'd tithe de majority of our takings to our Benefactress, Candra, in exchange for an extended life. What was left went here," he gestured to the house, "and de remainder was disseminated to de nine clans. Our power was in knowledge, and dat knowledge was preserved here by our scholars."

"What knowledge?" Bobby asked.

Remy was pensive. "Knowledge of de Old Kingdom," he finally said. "Or what you might call Eden."

"As in: Garden of...?" Bobby asked.

"Yes. Paradise on earth, the knowledge of which was passed down from generation to generation of thief. Our lives were prolonged so de knowledge wouldn't be diluted. But after several millennia, things do have a way of changin'. Things get forgotten, lost, or stolen."

"Stolen. Go figure."

"It's a terrible crime t'steal from de family," Remy said.

"First rule of the Thieves' Guild...don't steal from the Thieves' Guild."

Bobby could tell by Remy's expression that he didn't understand the _Fight Club _reference. "You might as well have lived under a rock," Bobby told him.

"I was raised by a mystical cult of thieves," Remy said. "Would you cut me some slack?"

"Okay, fine. But when we get back home, you're going to be watching a lot of DVDs. Total pop culture immersion."

"I have at least made it to de mid-seventies..." Remy replied. "I know who Spock and Big Bird are."

"It's a start," Bobby replied. "So we're going in there? What do you need me to do?"

"Well, if you think I'm out of touch, be prepared. De people who live here...are outside of de realm of what passes for Guild normal," Remy explained.

"Oh, geez. How weird are we talking?"

Remy hesitated. "Dis is going t'sound...not politically correct," he began. "But de people who don't conform to Guild standards get sent here, pledged to a life of scholarship to serve in whatever capacity they can. Some are...physically impaired. Or have other disabilities. Or are homosexual. In older times, it was considered an honor to have a place here. You were given special leeways and treatment. Revered."

"And you were placed here?" Bobby asked.

Remy nodded once. "When The Antiquary came into power years before I was born, things changed. He turned what should've been a life of quiet scholarship and contemplation into a bastion of power, keeping de knowledge for himself. He started his own side-business, acquiring anomalies... Children who were diff'rent, which he purchased and traded for favors. One of his clients was Candra. He had some sort of agreement with her, and my father had no say in de matter. The Velvet Ministry was no longer a place where people who didn't fit in to de structure of de Guild could go and still have a home. It became a house of...vice."

"That's awful!" Bobby said, aghast.

Remy's face was sad. "Jean-Luc eventually found a way to displace him. The Antiquary is gone now. Dead, I hope. And de kids dat were kept here are free, at home wit' Mercy and Emil and Zoe, who are all a little outside de norm themselves. I won't let anything happen to those kids. Think what you like about de Guilds, about me, but de world outside with _Les Autres_ would be a shock to them."

"I don't know what to say. I'm glad they've got a home, any home where they're not going to be...," Bobby began, then stopped himself. "So what's the plan?"

Remy nodded and handed Bobby items they'd purchased at a local convenience store from a plastic sack. A folio with paper, a fountain pen, and auction catalogs from Christie's and Sotheby's. He loosened Bobby's tie. "Follow my lead," he told Bobby.

They crossed the street to the front gate. There was an intercom on one of the pillars. Remy depressed a button below it. When there was no response, he pressed the button again and again, then leaned on it. Finally, a voice spoke from the intercom.

"What _is_ it!" it asked impatiently.

"The prodigal son has returned!" Remy said brightly.

"LeBeau..." the voice growled. "What do you want?"

"Open up, I've got business t'attend to."

"You have no business here," the voice snapped. "If you wish an audience, you need to make the requests through the proper channels."

"No time for dat, Tome or Hoard or whichever one you are," Remy said. "I have a special guest here from _New York_ who's here t'appraise de collections. For insurance purposes. I'd be _so sorry_ for dere to be another fire here," Remy said, not sounding sorry at all.

The voice on the other end of the intercom cleared his throat nervously. "You...you can make an appointment and come back at a more..._reasonable_ hour!"

Remy wrapped his hands around the bars of the gate. "I don't have time for dis!" Remy said. "Now open up, or I'll huff...and I'll puff..." His hands began to glow.

There was a loud buzzing noise and the gates were opened.

Remy smiled at Bobby. "_It's time t'get things started_!" he sang.

"The Muppet Show. I'll check that off the list."

They proceeded up the walk with the dog walking between them. They were greeted at the door by two men, one short, one tall. Both unfriendly.

"Dis is Drake Roberts," Remy told them. "You'll be nice and show him 'round de place. Let him get a feel for de collections."

Bobby nodded at the two men, attempting an air of detached superiority.

The two men, Tome and Hoard as Remy had named them, looked at one another. "Very well," the short one said.

They were permitted entry. "The animal stays outside," the tall one said, pointing at the dog.

"He's a specially trained guard dog," Remy told them. "We're testin' out some new security measures."

Tome and Hoard sneered but relented.

The entryway was large with two curving staircases that led up to the second floor landing. There was a bronze statue of a nude man falling on his broken shield in the center of the foyer. Above was a glittering chandelier. At the top of the staircase centered on the wall was a large oil painting of The Antiquary in the same Roman garb as his monument in Metairie. He was holding an infant with black and red eyes in one arm and held a key in his other outstretched hand. He was portrayed leading his followers from darkness, all young men, into the light shining upon him. Bobby almost barfed in his own mouth.

"Why don't we start in de study?" Remy said. "Show him all de good stuff first. Then he can make a guesstimate based on that-so we can get de hell out of here."

"I should probably see everything," Bobby said authoritatively. "I don't do '_guesstimates_.'"

Remy let out a belabored sigh and rolled his eyes. "How long is dis going t'take?"

"I'll need at least an hour," Bobby said and Remy blinked at him. Twice. "Or two," Bobby amended.

"Fine!" Remy said with exasperation.

"If you will follow us..." Tome or Hoard said. They walked off the entryway into a library that extended to the second story above. The curtains were drawn and the room was dim. Where there weren't bookshelves, there were paintings and statues and artifacts in cases. It was like a museum. The carpeting was plush beneath their feet. The room was filled with dark shining wood tables and chairs all lit with the soft glow of desk lamps, empty of their scholars.

"Well," Remy said, gesturing airily at the room around him. "Do your thing."

Bobby straightened his tie. "If you'd like to direct me to the more substantial pieces you wish to insure...?" Bobby said to Tome. He decided that the one carrying the book in his arms as if it were a baby was Tome.

Remy sighed and picked up a Faberge egg from a display case and tossed it from hand to hand. Tome set his book down and ran over to Remy, snatching it from his hands.

"Don't..._touch_!" he scolded. Bobby put his catalogs down on top of the book Tome had set on the table, then opened his folio and clicked his pen open smartly.

Rothko was sniffing inquisitively at a suit of armor. He turned, positioned himself, and lifted his leg. "Nooo!" screamed Hoard.

"Get out!" Tome yelled at Remy, pointing to the door. "Take that dog with you!"

Remy shrugged and whistled to the dog. They left the room, abandoning Bobby to the two scholars. Bobby looked at the clock. Two hours starting now...he thought morosely.

"Can you believe that idiot was to be trained for a life of scholarship?" Tome asked Bobby.

"If we could just get started...? My time is not inexpensive," Bobby informed him.

Apparently, Tome and Hoard responded well to disdain because they bowed and scraped and went on and on in expansive detail about the collections. Bobby picked up his catalogs, the folio, and the book Tome had been so protective of in his arms and followed them. Minutes stretched on for years.

"One fountain pen...twenty dollars...One folio...thirty-two dollars," Bobby wrote. "Time with Gambit's creepy family..._priceless_." He scratched the last part out and wrote: "an interminable nightmare."

Hoard tried to look at what Bobby was writing. Bobby held the notepad to his chest protectively and gave the man a glare. "Anything else you see as important?" Bobby asked.

"Well, if you'll look over here at this vaaahse," the man began. "You can see it is a significant example of-."

"I'll be the judge of that," Bobby said snippily. The clock slowly ticked. _Come on, Gambit! _he thought.

Bobby continued to doodle and the two squirrelly men droned on and on. The clock ticked. "Let me come up with some figures," Bobby told them, sitting himself at one of the tables.

"We still have numerous rooms to go through," Tome said. He now seemed to be thrilled that he had a captive audience.

"Don't tell me how to do my job," Bobby told him, and flipped through one of the auction catalogs. He was finding it surprisingly easy to be mean to these men. Maybe because they were complacent with the purchase and sale of innocent children.

More bowing and scraping. The clock ticked. _Fifteen more minutes_...Bobby thought, glancing sidelong at the clock. Fifteen minutes turned into twenty, then twenty-five. Where was Gambit?

From the foyer came the soft jingle of a dog's tags. Rothko appeared in the study entryway. Bobby nearly groaned aloud in relief. Remy followed behind the dog, looked around the room absently and yawned. "Can we go now?" he whined.

Bobby slammed his folio shut. "I think I've seen enough," he said.

"But-but the other rooms..." Hoard began.

"If this is the best you have to show me, then I think we're through here," Bobby responded. "You won't be pleased with my estimates," he informed Remy.

Remy shrugged. "Meh," he said. "I'll take you back t'your hotel, Mr. Roberts."

"Good day," Bobby told the two men.

"But-," Tome said helplessly.

"I said 'good day'!" and turned to follow Remy from the study.

Together, they walked down the walkway and through the gates. Once they were out of sight of the mansion, Bobby turned on Remy. "What took so long? That was horrible!"

"De thing I was lookin' for wasn't where I thought it'd be," Remy said.

"What _were_ you looking for?" Bobby asked.

"We keep records in de archives...who stole what, when, and from who. If what I was told was true...which is isn't...then there should have been a record of Jean-Luc's theft and a description of what he stole twenty-six years ago...namely, me."

"You'd think you wouldn't want a paper trail for that kind of thing," Bobby observed.

"The records are not in any place dat's easy to get to...and sometimes it's useful t'go back to de them when you need t'steal somethin' back or blackmail someone."

"Oh, right. Of course, I should have thought of that. Speaking of which, I got you something."

"What's dat?" Remy said, pausing on the sidewalk.

Bobby turned to him and presented him with the book. "Tome had this. It looked like he was nursing it. So I thought it might be important."

Remy took the book from him, his expression dazed. "You _stole_ dis? For me?"

"Five-finger discount!" Bobby said, raising his arm to show Remy his palm. Remy was still looking at him with an expression of bewilderment. "C'mon man, don't leave me hangin'." When Remy continued to stare open-mouthed, Bobby took his other hand and forced Remy to return his high-five.

Remy looked down at the book. "I don't know what t'say. I'm...touched. And it's not even my birthday yet!"

"See next time, I can be upgraded to lookout!" Bobby said proudly and Remy grinned at him. "You were saying about the theft records...?"

"Right...there was no record of any theft of a child. I thought at first that maybe Jean-Luc had de record redacted."

"Why?"

Remy hesitated. "Dere's something he didn't want me t'know. Somethin' he and Tante Mattie had kept secret."

"And you didn't find it?" Bobby asked, disappointed.

"I started thinkin' about what you said about a receipt...," Remy began. "So on a whim, I looked in de purchases...not de thefts. You were right. Dere was a receipt, a written agreement."

"Really? So he didn't pay to have you stolen, he bought you straight up. From whom? What kind of person sells a kid?"

Remy pulled a file from under his jacket where he'd tucked it into the back of his jeans. He was holding it in his hand in front of him. His face looked a little pale.

"What's wrong?" Bobby asked, suddenly afraid. "You're not going to flip out again are you?"

Remy took a deep breath, then opened the file. He pulled a document from the sheaf of paperwork inside. It was a signed agreement. Remy's hand shook a little as he held the document out to Bobby. Bobby looked at the signatures at the bottom of the agreement. One bore the seal of The Antiquary. The other was a woman's name. A name he recognized. "Oh...my, God," he said. He looked back up at Remy. "What does this mean? Does it mean...is this...do you think she could be-your mother?"

Remy shook his head slowly. "I don't know," he said, his voice hoarse. "If it is...if she really is...then, I don't know what to think."

"There are ways to find out," Bobby said, trying to sound certain in light of Remy's sudden doubt. "We'll find out for sure. If not, then...good. Maybe you won't know who your real mom is, but..."

"And if she is?" Remy said, his eyes anxious.

"We'll figure that out later. For now, we'll just say nothing at all about it. To anybody."

Remy nodded and took the document back. He looked at it one last time before returning it to the file and hiding the folder under his jacket.

"Okay. Sounds like a plan," he said.

* * *

><p><em>Here's the statue in The Antiquary's House: <em>_.org/wiki/Dying_Gaul_

_Learn about Gaul: __.org/wiki/Gaul_

_The most famous Gaul of them All: __..fr?rub=francais_

_Next time: You can't spell funeral without F-U-N! And Gambit comes clean...mostly. _


	9. The Funeral

_Really too late to call, so we wait for  
>Morning to wake you<br>Is all we got  
>To know me as hardly golden<br>Is to know me all wrong, they warn.__  
>At every occasion, I'll be ready for the funeral<br>At every occasion, once more, it's called the funeral  
>At every occasion, oh, I'm ready for the funeral<br>At every occasion, oh, one billion day funeral_  
>-The Funeral, Band of Horses<p>

The sun cast a golden glow across the city when the bells began to toll. The mourners gathered inside the small Catholic church, filling the worn wooden pews which creaked and popped with each new inhabitant. Light filled the church, the stained glass windows dazzling the congregation in multicolored panels. Rogue was seated amongst those gathered in one of the last few pews. Logan sat to her left, Bobby on her right. Joanna sat with her arms crossed on the end closest to the center aisle. The first few rows were still empty, the immediate family had yet to arrive. They watched as the Thieves and Assassins gathered, dressed in black suits or dresses, the children in white. Members of the community filled the ranks.

Rogue was seated behind a black couple, the young woman was wearing an elaborate purple hat. Zoe Ishihara and her brother Shirow slid into the pew behind the X-Men. She and Logan exchanged a nodded greeting. Organ music began to filter down from the balcony above and behind their heads. Rogue watched as a pair of altar boys in red and white cassocks lit the candles. One of the young men was a thief in training. The other, who she did not recognize, must be an assassin.

When the candles were lit, the two boys vanished only to reappear in the procession a few moments later with the priest. Family members began to walk down the center aisle in pairs and filtered into the first few pews, thieves on the left, assassins on the right. Six men placed the casket carrying the body of Matilde Baptiste at the narthex of the church behind them; Remy and his cousin Emil, followed by a third man Rogue didn't know, yet another of Remy's cousins. This cousin had a dark bruise on his jaw. The other three men were assassins. The priest sprinkled holy water onto the casket, a plain wooden box. BellaDonna and Remy covered the casket with a white cloth. The casket was then borne by the six men to the front of the church where it was placed in front of the altar.

The men genuflected before the altar and took their seats amongst the bereaved. The priest walked slowly down the aisle followed by the altar boys, one of whom carried a processional cross, the other a censer. The priest passed the casket then proceeded up the steps to the altar. The boys joined him. One of the young men passed the censer to the priest and he rocked it forward and back over the casket, sending soft plumes of incense into the air while muttering a blessing. All the while the organ played.

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit," the priest said, raising his hand and making the Sign of the Cross over the congregation.

"Amen," the congregation answered.

The priest led those gathered through the Mass and the congregation followed along. Those among them who were not Catholic trailed slightly behind the responses and actions, trying to copy those around them or simply standing or sitting still.

BellaDonna stood to perform the first reading. She genuflected before the altar and walked up the stairs to the podium. Once there, she looked down at the pages of the Bible before her. "'The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want,'" she began, her voice was cold and level. It was voice of a leader, one that commanded attention. "'He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside still waters; He restores my soul.'"

"'He leads me in right paths for His Name's sake. Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil;'" she continued, and at this, her voice grew strained. She swallowed. "'For you are with me; Your rod and Your staff...they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; My cup overflows.'"

Belle's lower lip quivered, and for a moment, Rogue felt her heart go out to the woman in spite of what Belle had done to her. Perhaps the woman wasn't completely consumed by hatred after all. "'Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life. And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long,'" Belle concluded. A tear rolled down her cheek and she stepped away from the podium.

Remy's cousin Emil read aloud the responsorial Psalm. "'Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his faithful ones. O Lord, I am your servant; You have loosed my bonds," he read. The congregation answered: "I will walk in the presence of the Lord in the land of the living."

To Rogue, the procedure was a bit mystifying; the light, the words, the music, the clergy's dress, and ritualistic actions. Some in the congregation wept, but most seemed to be lulled and comforted by the familiarity of the responses. She stared at Remy, willing him to do something, react to anything. He remained stoic, his face betrayed nothing. He stood and approached the altar.

"A reading from the letter of Paul to the Galatians," he said. His voice sounded strange to her ears and it took her a moment to realize why. His speech was clear and precise. It lacked the usual slow drawl and was devoid of his usual accent. "'And, brothers, if a man has been overtaken by any offense, you who are spiritual should instruct someone like this with a spirit of leniency, considering that you yourselves might also be tempted,'" he said. "'Carry one another's burdens, and so shall you fulfill the law of Christ. For if anyone considers himself to be something, though he may be nothing, he deceives himself.'"

He continued: "'So let each one prove his own work. And in this way, he shall have glory in himself only, and not in another. For each one shall carry his own burden.'" Looking up from the podium he recited: "'Do not choose to wander astray. God is not to be ridiculed. For whatever a man will have sown, that also shall he reap.' The Word of the Lord."

"Thanks be to God," responded the congregants automatically. Remy descended from the podium and rejoined BellaDonna in the front pew.

They were lead through prayer and the choir composed of the young men and women of the Guilds sang: "_Let saints on earth in concert sing; With those whose work is done; For all the servants of our King, in Heav'n and earth are one..."_

The priest read from the Gospel and they were asked to respond to Prayers of the Faithful with the response: "Lord hear our prayer." The priest and altar servants began preparing the bread and wine. Songs were sung, bells were rung, the congregation responded dutifully. The Catholic faithful proceeded up the aisle, past the casket to receive Communion from the priest. Several abstained, including Remy and BellaDonna, who sat side by side in the front pew. Rogue wondered why they didn't join the others.

The priest raised his arms and said: "Peace I leave you, my peace I give you; look not on our sins, but on the faith of your Church, and graciously grant her peace and unity in accordance with your will. Who live and reign for ever and ever." They were instructed to offer one another a sign of peace, and those gathered took one another's hands. Remy and Belle kissed one another's cheeks, then turned to their family members and did the same.

The ceremony completed, the priest and the servers stepped from the altar. The men once again took up the casket and bore it from the church. Rogue watched Remy's face as he walked past, but his eyes never looked away from the back doors of the church. Eventually, those at the front pews began to file out, followed by those gathered in the subsequent rows. Rogue joined them in the center aisle and they exited the church.

The day was drawing to a close. Out on the street was a black horse-drawn carriage. The horse was black as well. Rogue watched as the pallbearers placed the casket onto the carriage. The mourners gathered in the street. Many had black umbrellas, even though it was not raining. The umbrellas opened. A group of black men dressed in uniform held bright brass instruments which flashed in the fading sunlight. As the carriage began to move, the musicians gathered and put their instruments to their lips. They began to play. Bobby stared at them, dumbfounded.

They processed down the street and the mourners began to sing along with the dirge: "_Though like the wanderer...the sun gone down...__Darkness be over me...my rest a stone...__Yet in my dreams I'd be nearer, my God, to Thee...Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee_!"

They walked down the street following the carriage and the mourners, singing all the while until they came upon a small cemetery with aged crypts. The pallbearers took up the casket and carried it into the cemetery. The players stood outside the cemetery gates.

The mourners gathered within the cemetery walls, filing in between the crypts, making space for one another in the narrow walkways. White shells that lined the damp paths crunched underfoot. They came to an open crypt and the coffin was interred within. They stood silently a moment as the priest stood before the open crypt, the hole behind him like a gaping wound.

"My family and friends," the priest began. "We're here this evening to remember a truly remarkable woman. Our Tante Mattie had no natural children. But she welcomed each of us into her heart as her own kin. Matilde was an angel among us, a woman who walked the path God set for her without hesitation, no matter how difficult. She was devout and humble in her faith, and could have easily walked alongside the best of God's servants."

"Instead she chose a life in service with those who needed her most...counseled those who lacked belief, comforted those who suffered, gave aid to the poor, brought healing to the infirm...prayed for the sinners. She embodied Christ's teachings in every way."

"So let's not mourn the loss of a woman who cleaned our scrapes, kissed our heads, tucked us in at night, and prayed for God's mercy upon us. Let's instead be thankful for having known her, to have been blessed by her presence, and say thank you to a woman who was a mother to us all."

Rogue pressed a handkerchief to her mouth, touched it to her tears.

The priest spoke again. "Normally, I would conclude with the Lord's Prayer. But in honor of Tante Mattie, I would like to say instead our prayer to the Virgin Mother."

The mourners bowed their heads. "_Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. __Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen._"

From the cemetery gates, one of the trumpeters took up the tune of _Ave Maria_. The mourners began to disperse, walking through the cemetery gates and back into the street. As they rejoined the musicians, they took up a different tune.

"_We are trav'ling in the footsteps, of those who've gone before. And we'll all be reunited, on a new and sunlit shore..."_

Everyone chimed in for the familiar chorus, and the congregants twirled and bobbed their umbrellas in time to the music. "_Oh, when the saints...go marching in...Oh, when the saints go marching in...Lord, how I want to be in that number...When the saints go marching in._"

"Weird...," Bobby said quietly and people started to dance.

People on the street began to join in, strangers and tourists and locals alike as the music became more sprightly. "_Some say this world of trouble, is the only one we need...But I'm waiting for that morning, when the new world is revealed...!_"

_"Oh, when the saints... go marching in...Oh, when the saints go marching in...Lord, how I want to be in that number...When the saints go marching in!"_

* * *

><p>Remy tapped his knuckles lightly on the door to Bobby's room, then continued down the hallway without waiting for a response. Joanna was emerging from the hall bathroom. He met her eyes and raised his eyebrows before making his way to Logan's guest room. The door was ajar and he could hear the soft sounds of a conversation between Rogue and Logan from inside. He knocked and pushed the door open a bit further.<p>

"Mind if I come in?" he asked, looking through the space between the door and the jamb. Logan was standing, shuffling things around inside of his duffel bag. Rogue sat on the foot of the bed, still wearing the clothes she wore to the funeral. Her face looked unnaturally pale against the black of her dress. Logan looked up from the bag and waved him in. Remy entered and leaned back against the dresser, crossing one ankle over another.

"Leaving so soon?" Remy asked, gesturing at the duffel bag. Bobby entered the room as well. Joanna appeared at the door and leaned her hip against the jamb. "Hope it wasn't somethin' I said."

"Thought we'd get out of your hair," Logan said. "Head back to the school."

"I wondered if you might stick around," Remy said. "At least another night. Mercy's got some big _fais do-do_ on for tomorrow...I'd like if you'd come."

"Did you just say: _doodoo_?" Bobby asked.

"It means party," Remy explained.

"Well, if it's anything like the funeral, then it's bound to be pretty-," Bobby began.

"-Weird?" Remy asked.

"Interesting," Bobby said instead.

Rogue hesitated. "If you really want us there..."

"I wouldn't have asked otherwise," Remy said. "And if you don't care t'come on my account, I can guilt you into it by sayin' that de kids would be disappointed if you left now. They find y'all pretty entertaining."

Logan sat his duffel bag onto a chair. "I reckon Kitty can hold down the fort another day. Nice service today. Sent the gal off in style."

Remy nodded.

"Here I'd been feeling sorry for you all this time," Joanna began. "And now I come to realize that you were raised by a freakin' saint."

He smiled. "Yes, I've been pretty lucky."

"Seemed like someone I'd like to have met," Bobby said.

Remy's smile faded. "Maybe y'could have, if I hadn't been so concerned about keeping myself to myself."

"Remy...about what happened at the funeral home...about Jean-Luc..." Rogue began. "Ah'm sorry-."

Remy cut her off with a shake of his head. "Y'don't need to apologize t'me," he drew a breath and crossed his arms over his chest. "You weren't entirely wrong to have doubts about me."

"Ah know things haven't been easy for you, sugah. But Ah should've never thought you'd kill all those people."

"It's not like it hasn't happened b'fore," Remy replied. "My killing people whether intentionally or not."

"If you're talkin' about the Morlocks...," Logan began.

"_Non_, not entirely. I've made mistakes b'fore that cost people dere lives. De fact is is I'm not always in control of what I do."

Logan balked at that. "Every man is responsible for their actions, and you've got to accept the consequences. I know that better'n anybody."

"I'm not talkin' about responsibility. I know what I've done...it's just dat I don't always have a grip on what I'm doin' while I'm doin' it."

"That's a load of bullshit," Joanna said. "You know perfectly well what you did to-what you do."

Remy raised and lowered his shoulders. "I don't have an excuse for what I did t'you, Joanna. Other than that I was a stupid, selfish kid. Most time, I'm aware I'm bein' a fool," He reached into his pocket and removed an amber perspiration bottle. He handed it to Logan. "But even my normal foolishness don't come natural. I got t'have help to even be dis way."

Logan regarded the bottle. "This doesn't mean anything to me," he said reading the label.

"It's an anti-psychotic," Remy said.

"_Psychotic_-," Joanna said.

"Like Norman Bates _Psycho_?" Bobby said. "You get that-right?"

Remy raised the corner of his mouth. "I know Hitchcock, and no, not stab you in de shower kinda psycho. I don't have an identity disorder."

"Does this have anything t'do with what Apocalypse did to you?" Rogue asked.

Remy shook his head. "No, I wish that was de explanation."

"Then what _is_ wrong with you?" Joanna asked.

"Joanna, stop it," Rogue said.

"I could give you a shorter list of things that aren't wrong wit' me," Remy said, absently rubbing the scar on the smallest finger of his right hand. "But mostly it's that I don't always see reason. That some things I do don't make any sense t'anyone but me. When I'm havin' an episode I only see two possible outcomes to any situation, usually in extremes."

"What do you suppose the outcome of this situation is?" Logan asked.

"I'm not havin' a psychotic episode at de moment, so I suppose a lot of it will depend on what you decide," Remy said. "But when I get off track, I have de tendency t'think only in terms of good and evil. If I'm not a thief, I must be an X-Man." He held one hand out, palm raised. "If I'm not an X-Man, I must be a Marauder," he said, holding out the other hand.

"If we're not you're friends, we're your enemies...?" Rogue asked.

Remy nodded. "Xavier says it's called black-and-white thinkin', or a false dichotomy. But usually I stop listenin' when he starts wit' the psychobabble."

"Xavier knows about this?" Logan demanded an answer, pointing at Remy. "He never said."

"Xavier has a soft spot for crazy people," Remy told him. "I think sometimes he thought he could help me in a way he couldn't help his son."

"How long...?" Rogue said hoarsely. "How long have you known about this?"

"Awhile," Remy replied slowly. "Not long after you and I started-when we both came back from N'Awlins when Belle revived. And she didn't recognize me. I felt like things around me were gettin' distorted, so I talked wit' Xavier. It wasn't 'til den I had a name for what I was goin' through. But Xavier spotted it straight away."

"Ah wish you felt like you could've told me-told _us_," Rogue said.

"Me too," Remy replied. "But I've got some serious paranoia about gettin' cast out...and I didn't want to get institutionalized-again."

"What, did you escape from the nuthouse too?" Joanna said.

"Not...escape exactly. I-my brother Henri had me put in a hospital...after my first real break-down. He thought he was doin' de right thing by me. He couldn't have known Sinister would find me there."

Rogue made a little sound of surprise. "Mah God, was he your doctor?"

Remy stared at the carpet. "He thought my condition was genetic, a result of my powers bein' out of control. Only dat wasn't why I was so screwy. Xavier said it wasn't genetics, dat Sinister was wrong. It's more like t'do wit' something that happened to me when I was a kid."

"So Sinister lobotomized you? That was his fix?" Bobby asked.

Remy nodded. "Had me convinced it would solve my problems."

"What _will_ fix it?" Joanna asked.

"No fix," Remy said.

"Tough break, Gumbo," Logan said. "What does one of these-episodes-look like, then?"

"You might have seen me in a state twice," Remy said, holding up two fingers. "If I'm not gettin' treatment, I get a in a funk. And pretty much hate myself and my self-destruct switch gets flipped. De first time was after Onslaught and Xavier was gone for so long...then we were in space and I wasn't bein' treated for a long, long time."

Rogue was sitting up, her spine straight. "And when we came back...to Antarctica...?"

"I don't blame you for what happened, _chere_. I never could. You saved me from myself. If you hadn't been forced t'touch me then, I wouldn't have been able to think straight. I'm only sorry you got a full dose of my kinda crazy."

"What's the second then?" Logan asked.

"I think that's pretty obvious...when I hit another all time low and took my chances wit' Apocalypse."

"So you're sick, you can't control the way you think and you _know_ it...you should at least have had the sense t'get help!" Logan growled.

Remy hunched his shoulders. "Well, I was... from Emma. She thought if she could force me...well, bot' Rogue and I t'confront some things in her therapy sessions..."

"Frost knows about this too?" Joanna asked. "You went to that bitch for help!"

"She thought she could do better'n Xavier could. I'm sure she came forward and admitted her mistake after I lost my marbles and became Death," he said with an ironic smile.

"She might have forgotten to mention it," Bobby said dryly.

"Oh, well, dat explains some things," Remy said.

Rogue's hand was at her throat. She wiped her hand across her face, her expression tired. "Remy...you tried to kill me."

He pushed his hair back from his face. "Y'seem t'be one of de lucky people I've...idealized. To de point where I believe you t'be infallible. And when something happens that doesn't jive wit' my vision of you, it's like my world is upside-down."

Rogue's face was flushed. "Wh—what does that mean? You idealize me? That...you were just with me b'cause...what we were was just a result of you being-_sick_?"

Remy shook his head. "Please don't think that."

"Seems accurate to me," Joanna grumbled.

Bobby flung out his arm and Joanna found herself with a face full of slush. She angrily wiped her face.

Remy glanced at Joanna, his eyes flashing a warning. "De only part of my illness that affected our relationship is my inability to let things go. But becoming Death and strangling you probably didn't score me any points."

Rogue looked at her shoes.

Remy pushed away from the dresser and stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. "So...dat's all."

"What am I supposed t'do with you, Gambit?" Logan asked, his expression dark.

"If you want my resignation, you can have it," Remy responded. "I can understand if you don't want me 'round de school."

"Speakin' as someone who's not always in control of his actions, I can hardly discriminate against someone who's got a legit illness," Logan said.

"It's not about discrimination. You've got enough on your plate wit'out having to worry about someone like me," Remy told him.

"You think I'm gonna cut you loose, and hope you won't flip out again and go runnin' back to Sinister?" Logan demanded.

"I'm gettin' treatment. I can't guarantee I won't...have setbacks. But I haven't had an episode in some time."

"Wasn't what happened with Pollard an episode?" Joanna asked.

Remy gave her a small smile. "Dat wasn't me bein' crazy. Dat was me upholdin' a certain reputation."

"Is Xavier in on this, your treatment?" Logan asked.

Remy shook his head. "No...as much as I like Xavier, I don't think he can see me without his personal feelin's getting in de way. Or most anyone seein' me through a fog of their own personal bullshit. I've got a different group of people who treat me on a professional level. Cecelia Reyes is one of dem, and Dr. Drumm here in N'Awlins is de other."

"And you think you can keep this up?" Logan asked.

"I have to," Remy said. "In spite of it all, I come to like bein' alive. I planned on stickin' wit' it for some time yet."

* * *

><p><em>Next time: What Joanna saw.<em>

_Thank you for reviewing my story. Your feedback has helped me rework some of my later chapters and I feel that the story is all the stronger for it. This chapter was SOOOO hard to write. I hope it wasn't impossible to read._

_The passage from Paul's letter to the Galatians is my favorite verse. I am not a Christian, but I hold these words dear to my heart: "for ___whatsoever a man soweth___, that shall he also reap." It is my motto. Pretty good for an atheist, enh?_


	10. My Body Is A Cage

_The third portion of this story includes somewhat disturbing violence/torture and sexual situations. You could probably skip it and still follow the story if you don't want to read it. Stop at "Frenzy had..." and start up again where it begins "Joanna gasped..."_

* * *

><p><em>I'm living in an age<br>That calls darkness light  
>Though my language is dead<br>Still the shapes fill my head  
>I'm living in a age<br>Who's name I don't know  
>Though the fear keeps me moving<br>Still my heart beats so slow  
>My body is a cage that keeps me<br>From dancing with the one I love  
>But my mind holds the key<em>  
>-My Body is a Cage, Arcade Fire<p>

Joanna was tired. Tired in body, tired in mind, and tired of listening to people talk. She left Rogue, Bobby, and Logan in the kitchen and went back upstairs. They were still grilling Bobby on what he and Remy had gotten up to that afternoon. Bobby was acting weird and sweaty and nervous about the whole thing. His story was bare-boned at best, something about touring a local cemetery famous for fantastic statuary. For four hours. She didn't buy it, but Joanna was done with explanations. She didn't want to hear anything else. Especially about Gambit, and whatever was wrong with him.

If there was anything she hated more than people being sad, it was people being sick. Emotions and illness weren't something that could be resolved with a good kick in the ass. If she was going to be honest with herself, it was the helplessness she felt that made her so angry. She kicked open the door to her guest room and kicked it shut again behind her. She changed out of her black suit and into yoga pants and a tank top, leaving her suit in a rumpled ball in her travel bag.

It was damn hot. She lay on top of the bed covers and stared at the dark ceiling. The house was empty except for the other X-Men. Mercy said she was taking the children on a field trip to the museum...at twelve o'clock in the morning. They'd melted into the night in their dark Guild clothing, the kids looking excited in the way kids do when they are getting out of their regular lessons. With the weird sleeping patterns these people kept, she could stay in her room until two the next afternoon.

Even though she felt physically exhausted, Joanna's brain kept working on and on. She couldn't sleep and her eyes remained resolutely open. Remy was in his room at the end of the hall. Briefly, she entertained the thought of going to him. Half of her wanted to slap him. She was uncomfortable with what the other half wanted...to comfort? Or to be comforted?

She must have drifted off for a few minutes, half in and half out of sleep, because she suddenly found her eyelids flying open. Her heart was thundering in her chest. Something moved in the hall. A shadow had disturbed the faint line of light at the base of the door. Someone was walking past. She sat up slowly. Another shadow appeared and came to a stop outside her door. Joanna held her breath, unsure of why she felt so frightened. Whoever was just outside moved away. She let out her breath.

Moving slowly and silently, she walked to the door. She pressed her ear against the wood, but heard nothing. She touched the doorknob and turned it, careful not to make a sound. She felt she was being ridiculous. It was probably just one of the other X-Men, making their way to their rooms. Except the shadows had moved in the opposite direction, towards Remy's room. Or it could be that Pierce guy, he moved so silently...but there were two figures. Why did she feel such a sense of dread? Joanna opened her door a crack and peered into the hall.

It was dark, but there was still enough light filtering from the foyer below to see by. At the end of the hall she could see the door to Remy's room. In front of the door standing before the hall mirror were two cloaked figures. Their cloaks hung in such a way that made them seem to hang in the air like wraiths. She could see the line of their emaciated shoulders through the fabric of their cloaks. Joanna could hear her heart pounding in her ears. One of the figures moved its cloak back, revealing a thin arm. The arm drew back slowly, sliding something free from its belt. Joanna saw a long stiletto flash in the dim light.

She threw open her door and rushed into the hall. For an instant, she caught a glimpse of a gruesome visage, mottled skin pulled tight in a rictus grin, eyes glinting from the darkness of its cowl. One of the figures turned in one liquid motion and tossed something into her face. Only she didn't see anything fly from its bony fingers. She drew breath to shout a warning, and instead a sensation of numbness flowed into her chest. The creeping feeling of coldness flooded her face and neck, paralyzing her. She began to fall forward when the figure moved with a swiftness that belied its apparent frailness. The figure clawed at her shirtfront with a wiry strength before her knees could hit the floorboards.

She couldn't breathe. The numbness was moving down her limbs. It was cold. She was lowered, helpless to the carpet. Her vision receded into a tiny pinpoint of light. Then that too vanished.

* * *

><p>Remy was sitting at the desk his father once used to conduct the business of the Thieves' Guild. He had three items before him. There was package wrapped in brown paper with his initials on it: R L. Beside it was the hardbound notebook Bobby had stolen from Tome. Next to that was a file folder he'd stolen from the Guild archives.<p>

Remy knew what was in the file folder, so he reopened it. There was the agreement in which possession of goods was exchanged for a sum of money. There were two signatures, one being the given name of The Antiquary, the other the name of a woman. The description of the goods was not explicit in the contract. There was instead a document appended to the agreement, a Certificate of Live Birth. Remy smoothed it with his hand. There was one fact that he found comforting about the document, and that was that it was for the state of Louisiana. At least he knew he could call New Orleans his native home.

In the space for Child's Name it read: Baby Boy. He touched his birthdate. He was only a few months older than the day Tante Mattie had declared as his birthday, the day Jean-Luc became his legal guardian seven years after his birth. He'd been twenty-six for the last two months.

The hospital Jean-Luc had taken him from was also what he thought to be true, even if Jean-Luc hadn't stolen Remy from there but in fact had brokered a sale. No father's name had been given. The mother's name made his stomach tighten. But the thing that really set his heart pounding was the checked box in line four.

"THIS BIRTH:," in cold black capital letters followed by three boxes. "Single. Twin. Triplet."

There was an X in front of the box for Twin. "If TWIN, mark first or second." Second was marked.

He was a twin. He had a sibling. The words swam before his eyes. So rarely had he allowed himself to think about the family he hadn't had: mother, father, siblings. Suddenly, he had a brother, a blood relation.

He closed the file and held his hand over it. _I'll find you_, he thought. His heart leapt at the thought. He had an idea of where he could start. When he'd been in the archives amidst the old ledgers, he had gone through the tithing records. It recorded every tithe given to their Benefactress Candra for several centuries. There was only one item, one tithe given, for the year of Remy's birth. One infant boy.

He turned to the book. It was brownish-red, like dried blood. Remy opened it. It was a hand-written journal. He saw drawings of the familiar emblems he'd grown up with in the Guild. The LeBeau Sun who carried the Crown of the Old Kingdom and the rise of a new dawn. Alouette clan was the Bird of Morning, who carried the promise of peace in its beak. The Marceaux clan was represented by a sheaf of wheat with three sickles, representing their role as Harvest Masters and the gathering of knowledge. Potier was a golden pot, for drinking the Elixir of Life that prolonged their lives and the future promise of life everlasting. The Lapin Hares represented the agile mind and the thrill of pursuit.

Remy looked over the handwritten words. He wondered where this book had come from. There were spots of blood on the interior cover. There was also the crest of an Assassin family name: Chicault. Chicault plus blood equalled one thing in his mind; the vampire Francois Chicault that the vampire hunter Blade had slain in the Velvet Ministry itself. That vampire had more a thirst for knowledge than blood, and planned to spend his eternity uncovering the secrets of the Old Kingdom. These must be his notes. So like Tome and Hoard to keep something like this for themselves. Remy had pretty much written off the whole Old Kingdom thing when it turned out he'd been prophesied to bring about peace on Earth by obliterating all life on it. Remy's life-goals were humbler than being the harbinger of Heaven on Earth. First he'd like to maybe try to go to church on Sundays again. So long as the Saints weren't playing that day. Also he'd like to be the greatest thief of all time. He recalled that Xavier had once told him to set attainable life-goals, so Remy amended it to "greatest thief of the millennia."

Most of the words in the book were in a language Remy barely understood, there were so few Gallic words still spoken. At the center of the book was a stanza of text that was framed with a drawing of keys. Keys were significant to the Guilds. As a child, if Remy had been caught not doing what he'd been instructed he'd be admonished with the familiar phrase: "The keys to the Kingdom won't be held by idle hands." Idleness was one of many things frowned upon in the Guilds.

He skimmed over the text, then tried to sound out the words. He felt his eyes begin to water as he read. He was more than halfway through when he began to sneeze. He scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He put his index finger to the text and continued to read. Why did this sound familiar? He sneezed again, but not before he heard a soft thud come from the hallway outside his door.

He still had a handkerchief in his pocket, so he sneezed and coughed into that. He stood, still thinking about the stanza. He tried to puzzle out the last few lines. He walked to the door, thinking that there was someone on the opposite side. It felt as if perhaps another Guild thief was nearby, but that was impossible. They had all gone to work. Maybe Rothko wanted in. Remy had left him down in the kitchen with Logan.

He opened the door just as another sneeze caused him to spasm forward. It was a fortunate thing, because when the blade came down it scored across his chest instead of plunging into his throat. He felt the hot sting of pain run from his clavicle across his pectoral muscle. He looked up through watering eyes to see the cloaked figure readying the stiletto for another strike. Remy's left arm shot out, seizing the figure's forearm and forcefully jerking downward as his right hand came up, grasped the man by his chin and forcefully jerked it in the opposite direction, snapping the creature's frail neck with a crack. As it dropped lifelessly to the carpet, Remy's hand slid down it's thin arm to grasp the stiletto just as the second figure flew forward. Remy blocked the fall of the blade it wielded with his forearm and drove his own stiletto in between the creature's ribs. He covered its mouth with a hand and held it against him as the thing slowly sank to the ground. When he was sure it was dead, he let it drop to the carpet.

Joanna was laying in the hallway. He released his hold on the blade and dashed to her side. Her eyes were open and her face a frozen mask of fear. He touched her cheek. She felt stiff and cold. He swore. She had been cursed. His blood dripped from the wound in his chest onto her own. He saw it pool in the hollow of her throat. Words trickled into his head, settling into the dark recesses of his mind. Words from the book. References to blood...to keys...to life. Something turned in his mind. There came that satisfying sound like when you'd just picked a lock and the door could now be opened.

And then there was light.

* * *

><p>Frenzy had inflicted a lot of pain on a lot of people in her short life, but never before had she heard the sounds of agony that were coming from the man before her. He was crouched on the plush carpeting with his arms wrapped around his midsection as he howled until he could no longer for lack of breath.<p>

"What are you doing to him?" Frenzy forced herself to ask.

Candra looked at Frenzy down the length of her perfect nose. "I am manipulating his viscera," she replied matter-of-factly. "Quite painful, as you can see...so I am also preventing him from losing consciousness. I wanted to leave an impression on my darling pet. I only hope Remy can remember this lesson for next time."

Frenzy had first met Remy, who went by Gambit, several months ago in the States. She had been tasked with what she believed at the time to be a simple job guarding a significant piece of Stark technology, stolen of course from its proper owners. The equipment had been hidden in a train car and was to be transported by rail to its ultimate destination, where it would then be transferred to the hands of HYDRA. It should have been an easy mission with a hefty paycheck. Instead an explosion had uncoupled the car from the engine.

Dragged by the weight of the cars behind, the car bearing the Joanna and the equipment had quickly lost momentum. A single man had dropped through the hatch in the roof, then bounced around the rail car as if on springs. Frenzy had fired multiple rounds at the intruder while trying to avoid hitting any of the expensive equipment she'd been tasked to protect. He had easily evaded her gunfire as he bounded from one side of the car to the next. He had slapped her firearm from her grip with a bo staff. She realized too late that the thief had attached multiple tow lines to the equipment. His hands had flown out to either side trailing bright red and yellow lights, and twin explosions had blown the top of the train car open. The tow line had grown taught, and from above came the sound of a helicopter blades slapping the air. The thief had launched himself into the air, grasped the tow line with one hand, and blew her a kiss with the other as the helicopter rose taking him and the technology with it. It had taken all of ten minutes.

She'd lost that job with the promise that she'd never find work States-side again. Then the summons came from a potential new employer in Paris, France. She'd arrived at an estate owned by a powerful woman named Candra. When Frenzy was ushered into her main chambers, Candra had looked her up and down with a glare of cold distain. The thief stood at her side. She easily recognized him by his glowing red eyes and the grin that split his face in two. Candra had turned to the thief.

"You didn't tell me Frenzy was a woman," she had said cooly.

He smiled insolently at her. Candra backhanded him across the face. He responded by laughing darkly.

He certainly wasn't laughing now.

That was months ago and since Frenzy found herself paired with Gambit on several missions. He was talented but stupidly reckless, never satisfied with simply completing the mission as directed. He purposefully made things more difficult simply for the thrill of it. It pleased Candra not at all.

Candra was a cold-hearted bitch. She was also terrifying. She possessed a powerful telekinetic ability that could work down to the molecular level. Apparently satisfied with the results of her punishment, she released her hold on her victim and he slumped to the floor, moaning.

"Remove him from my sight," she instructed Frenzy with a dismissive wave of her hand. She turned and walked from the room, regal as a queen.

"Get up," Frenzy told the prone form on the carpet while nudging him with the toe of her boot. When he didn't move, she squatted and seized his arm and began dragging him upright. "Why don't you just leave her?" she asked irritably.

"It's not as easy as dat," he said into his lap.

"The pay can't be that good," Frenzy said.

Gambit gasped as he unfolded from the carpet. He pulled himself free from her grasp. "She don't pay me a'tall," he said.

"So you work _pro bono_?" Frenzy said snidely. "Or is it all the fantastic sex?"

Gambit scowled at her as he regained his feet. "'S not about sex. It's only about power," he said.

"You think I can't hear what the two of you get up to when she's not torturing you?" Joanna asked.

Gambit turned away from her, straightening his back with a sharp exhalation of pain.

"Maybe..." Frenzy began, then grasped his left wrist. "Maybe you don't leave her because _you like it._"

Gambit tried to twist himself free from her grip. He swung at her with his right arm, which she caught against her side and pinned with her upper arm. They were both of a similar height, but she easily outmatched him in strength as well as weight. She forced him backward and he scrambled to keep his feet as he backpedaled. The breath went out of him as she slammed him back into the wall.

Frenzy put her face very near to Gambit's. "Admit it," she said against his mouth. "Say how much you love being smacked around. You sick little puppy."

"Let go a'me," he told her, his eyes flashing.

She pushed herself against him, her arm that pinned his came up and she pressed her fingers into his stomach. Even through the Kevlar armor he wore, he could feel the pressure of her knuckles in his gut. He cried out and struggled helplessly in her grip. "Let go!" he yelled.

Frenzy felt as though flames had burned up her arms and along her shoulders. She yelped and threw herself backwards. She couldn't be burned! She was invulnerable! Her eyes widened with surprise more than pain.

"You burned me!" she exclaimed.

"No," he said and reached forward to clutch her shirtfront. "I burned your uniform." His hand jerked downward and her uniform shredded along her shoulders.

Frenzy gasped and held her hands to the ruined straps of her bra. "You fucking bastard!"

He tossed the remains of her clothing to the ground. "So you _are_ a woman under dere after all," he said with a sly smile.

Frenzy let her arms drop. She would not let him humiliate her. She tore off the remnants of her uniform top and let them fall to the floor. His smile grew wider.

In a fury, she launched herself at him, aiming a fist towards his abdomen. He managed to sidestep her and her fist punched into the wall with a crunch. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, the other went around her waist. The fingers of his hand gripped the curve of her buttock. His tongue went into her ear just before her back hit the wall.

She yelped and threw him away from her. He trotted backwards, laughing. Frenzy scrubbed the feeling of his tongue from her ear with the back of her wrist.

"You put your tongue out at me again and I'll rip it from your mouth!" she yelled.

He seized the back of his half-mask and pulled it over his head while shaking out his sweat-dampened hair. Laughing, he said: "And why would you deny yourself the privilege of enjoying my tongue a second time?"

"You think you're any good, jailbait?" she asked him, pointing a finger at his chest. "You're just a punk kid!"

He grinned at her. "Candra's been around for awhile now...might be she's learned me a few tricks."

"Like some scrawny_ boy_ like you could do anything for me?"

He uncoupled the buckles that held his chest armor in place. "Not all of me is so boyish," he said. Without his armor, he was even thinner than she thought. He had the long lean muscles of a gymnast. His chest and stomach were mottled with old and new bruises. Portions of his skin appeared shiny and new, as if he'd been burned.

"I prefer my men..._bigger_," she said.

He took two strides forward to bring himself in front of her. "I prefer my women...satisfied," he said, his lips very close to her own. She could feel the heat radiating off of his body against her own bare flesh.

"You've got your work cut out for you then," she replied.

She couldn't see his smile but saw how it lit up his eyes. They glowed like banked coals. His fingertips traced the lines of her shoulders, then trailed lower, touching the tops of her breasts, then lower to come to rest on her hips. She inhaled as he slid down her body, hands, lips, and teeth brushing against her skin. He was on his knees in front of her and she towered over him. His tongue flirted with her navel and she sucked in a breath and took the hair at the nape of his neck into her fist.

His fingers looped through the laces of her boots, untying the knots. "One," he said, and lifted her leg by pressing his hand behind her knee. He slid her leg free of her boot. "Two," he said, and the second boot followed the first. His hands went to the waist of her uniform and pulled down. "Three."

She slid down the wall, her shoulders bracing her against it. She still hand her hand in his hair, guiding him against her. Frenzy's weight was supported by her thighs, until after several minutes the muscles in her legs began to tremble. Her head tilted back against the wall and she gasped. She pulled him away and let herself fall to her knees. He was now laying on the carpet under her. Frenzy told herself she should get up, take her boots in either hand, and walk away now. Claim her prize and go. That was before Gambit leaned forward, put a hand to the back of her neck and kissed her mouth.

Withdrawing he said: "Your mouth tastes sweeter than it sounds, _ma doucette_."

She pinned his wrists above his head and kissed him again. She drew back along his body, freed his belt buckle, and jerked his uniform halfway down his legs. Now Gambit was trapped, hobbled, and completely at her mercy. She threatened him with her teeth and he sucked in a breath. She could hurt him badly now, or she could do the opposite. She continued her ministrations on him until she began to feel light-headed. His words were incoherent and hands clawed at the plush carpet.

She moved over him and straddled his waist.

"Now you're de one who's got work t'do, _chere_," he said.

When she lowered herself onto him, his head tilted back and he moaned low in his throat. She rested he heel of her hand on the base of his throat, let her fingers encircle his neck. When she moved, he rose up to meet her. Each joining was pleasure that bordered on pain. His fingers gripped her hips. She called out and fell over him, as he continued to move under her.

"You're not giving up yet, are you?" he asked, turning her to her side. "I'm not goin' down wit'out a fight."

Several moments later, she found herself laying on her stomach with her cheek pressed to the carpet. She vaguely remembered letting him talk her into this position. She didn't remember letting him talk her into that other thing. Now she was weakly spasming on the floor, a long groan coming from her throat. She felt him press his forehead between her shoulder blades as he spent himself against her. Gambit rolled to his side and onto the floor beside her.

"If you do that again," she mumbled against the carpet, "I will kill you."

He had one arm extended over his head, the other rested across his stomach. He laughed. "But I've all ready died..._le petit mort_..."

The French and their stupid puns and double entendres, she thought. Frenzy groaned and rolled over onto her back. Her limbs felt like they were made from rubber.

"Shall we cuddle now?" he asked, slipping his arm around her and nuzzling her neck.

"Get off!" she said, pushing him away.

She didn't let him cuddle her then or any of the other times they were together after that. Which was any time he wasn't with Candra. Fooling around behind her back was dangerous, but the danger made it exciting. Frenzy later found out she needn't have worried about getting caught.

Several weeks passed when Frenzy heard a scream; a high-pitched cry of terror, the sound a child might make. There were children here in Candra's estate. She kept them around as potential replacements for when she grew bored of her current pet. Frenzy wondered when she'd grow bored of Gambit as she'd grown bored of the woman before him, the one they'd found dead on the dining room table. Candra's leftovers. When Frenzy heard the scream from the quarters where she and several of the other guards and mercs slept, she imagined Candra had all ready made a new choice. That Gambit could be dead now. She dashed out of her room and down the hall to the main living quarters. There was a second scream and the sound of an explosion. One of Gambit's card tricks. So he wasn't dead...not yet anyway.

Frenzy threw open the door to Candra's chambers, heedless of the danger. A young teenage girl with blond hair dashed out, tears streaming down her face. Frenzy watched as the girl stumbled in a blind panic down the hall. Inside the room, Frenzy was met with the sight of Candra standing over Gambit. They appeared to be dressed for the evening, him in a white tuxedo shirt and black slacks, her in diamonds and rubies and little else. Candra's face was dark and brooding as she looked down at Gambit. Gambit's expression was enraged. Candra looked up at Frenzy, who stood motionless in the doorway.

"Ah, Joanna," she said as if they were meeting each other for tea. "A woman after my own heart. You enjoy inflicting pain on people..."

Frenzy remained stationary as Candra proceeded to drag Gambit across the floor behind her as she walked, as if she'd held him on an invisible leash. She took a fistful of his hair and forced him over the seat of a chair.

"Perhaps you can assist me with some disciplinary action," she continued. "My pet has become obstinate. You're not given to shyness..." she beckoned Frenzy with her fore and middle fingers. "Come along."

Haltingly, Frenzy stepped into the room. Candra walked to a large vase in which several bamboo poles were decoratively placed. The poles had been soaking in water. Candra strode over to Frenzy and placed the pole in Frenzy's limp hand.

"Strike him," Candra said casually, seizing the back of Gambit's shirt and exposing the small of his back. "Go ahead. Don't worry about breaking the skin. He heals quickly."

Frenzy continued to stand and stare. She watched as beads of water ran down the length of the pole to splash onto the rug, leaving dark water stains.

"You haven't gone soft on me now, have you? Or perhaps you're feeling sentimental?" Candra asked. "You of all people couldn't possibly have been taken in by this one." She roughly tousled Gambit's hair. He was struggling against the telekinetic force she held him with.

"Do you think he might care about you?" she asked. "Don't be a fool. He's told me all about your little trysts...how he's had you every way a man can have a woman."

Frenzy's face began to darken with anger. Her heart thundered in her ears. Her hand gripped the pole tightly.

"Would you have thought he'd prefer someone like you? No, you're just a prize to him. You know how much he likes to challenge himself," Candra smiled. "You should meet his young bride. So lovely. So very small, like a little fairy princess. Fair, light...nothing like you at all."

Frenzy felt humiliation so acute it stung her eyes. Gambit was no longer struggling, but laying limp against the chair, his face turned away. "Go ahead," Candra said invitingly. "I won't ask twice."

Frenzy raised her arm and brought the cane smashing down onto the back of the chair, cracking the frame and splintering the cane into shards. She tossed the remnants of the cane to the floor.

"Do your own dirty work! You're both sick! You deserve one another!" she screamed. "_I quit!_"

* * *

><p>Joanna gasped as his mouth drew away from her own. She filled her lungs with shuddering breaths. Remy's face was very close to hers, his expression drawn with concern. She continued to gasp and sputter, feeling her body tremble convulsively.<p>

"Joanna," Remy said, his hand brushing her hair back from her face. "Try not to move."

She couldn't. Her limbs were not responding to her commands. She felt numb and cold, as if she'd been given Novocain in every limb. Her muscles felt engorged and flaccid. Remy was holding something in one hand, a brass cup. In the other hand, he held a paint brush. She could see him moving his hands, painting something onto her chest, even though she couldn't feel it.

"Close your eyes," he told her.

She complied and he drew the brush across her face. The shaking began to subside and she felt a slow trickle of warmth penetrate her skin. Remy whispered some words she did not understand and feeling flooded through her limbs.

Joanna was lying on a stone table, its surface worn smooth by time. Her eyes scanned the surroundings. They were in a vaulted stone chamber lit with burning torches. The air was dry and dusty. Remy began to cough, his breath came in wheezing gasps like an asthmatic.

"Can you-feel anything?" he asked her between gasps. The skin on his face and neck had turned red with blotches. His eyes were streaming.

"Are you-crying?" Joanna croaked.

He smiled at her and shook his head. "I know-how much you-hate that," he told her.

Joanna reached a trembling hand to touch her face. Remy took her hand in his own to keep her from touching whatever he'd smeared across her skin. She could feel it now, it was heavy and sticky. She could see Remy had been cut across the chest, blood stained his white shirtfront. "What...is this...?" she asked.

"It'll wash off," was his answer. He put his arm around her and pulled her into sitting position. "I'm sorry about your shirt, I had to take it off t'break de curse." He reached behind her and she saw that her head had been resting on his bunched up jacket. He shook it out and put it over her shoulders. He guided her limp arms through the armholes and fastened it. It was warm and fit her perfectly. "Dat was some kind of spell they cursed you with."

Joanna looked around the chamber. "Where are-what were those things? Zombies?" she asked.

He was chaffing her numb hands in between his own. "_Non_, not zombies. Zombies smell. Those were _Le Choisi_..." he told her.

She paused, struggling to recall her French. "The Chosen?" she asked.

"Or de choosers, I'm not entirely sure," he said. He seemed to have regained his breath, though she could still hear something rattling in his chest. "De Guild execution squad."

"They were coming to kill you," she said. "Why?"

"Could be any number of reasons...exposin' de Guild to _Les Autres_, stealin' from de Guild, harmin' another Guild member...I thought by now _Le Choisi _would all be dead."

"But what _were_ they? They were horrifying."

He nodded. "Used t'think they were monsters myself, but come to realize they're the result of a botched Guild ritual. They were once Guild thieves dat drank an elixir that made them that way. All they know is pain and de desire t'inflict it on others. Like what happened t'Belle's brother...Y'feeling okay yet, _chere_?"

Joanna was still trembling slightly. "I know why you left Belle," she told him. "Why you were with Candra. Mercy told me."

Remy frowned. "Mercy should learn she don't need t'finish a bottle of wine just because it's open."

"Why didn't you ever tell BellaDonna? Let her believe you'd dumped her?"

Remy didn't speak for several moments. "It's complicated..." he said. "My instinct is t'protect her. But de person I couldn't protect her from was herself. I know she's got it in her t'stand on her own two feet. But she still sees herself as a scared girl on de inside, lookin' for a man to make her feel validated...worthwhile."

Joanna shook her head. "Sometimes I don't get you."

"I must be one of dem dichotomy things Xavier tole me about."

She looked at the cut on his chest. It was slowly seeping blood. "I wonder if you ever cared for me at all...or was that just a lie?"

"Seems like everything in my life starts off as a lie," Remy responded.

"Could you for once give a straight answer?" she asked.

He put his hand on her cheek and made her look up at him. "If you're talkin' about back then, when we were with Candra...I didn't care about anything or anyone back then. The only one I courted was Death. But Candra wasn't goin' t'let me off de hook so easy."

"What about now?" Joanna asked.

He gave her a sad kind of smile. "I like havin' you around, Joanna. I appreciate you're not scared to say what you think...not afraid t'call people out on their bullshit. Keeps de rest of us humble."

"There are plenty of other things to be scared of," she told him. When he moved to put his arms around her, she let him.

"You speak true, _ma doucette_," he said into her hair.

"Don't call me that," she said into his shoulder. "I know you're saying it as a joke. Sarcastically."

He pulled away from her and touched her chin. "But what if I think you're a little sweet...? If only just a little, little bit?"

She pressed her lips into a grim smile. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him, like in a romantic caring way instead of the aggressive passionate way she'd known. She couldn't see herself doing it. It was too close to being vulnerable. Joanna looked away.

"Can you walk?" he asked her. Joanna let him pull her off the table and she tested her legs. Her knees felt shaky.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Someplace else. Let's go. Dis place gives me de creeps."

"Why, Remy...you shouldn't let this place get under your skin," said a voice.

Joanna felt Remy go rigid and he drew a sharp breath. She looked at him as the color drained from his face. Seeing his fear, she searched for the source of the voice. The vaulted chamber had two exits, one a set of double doors with heavy wrought iron hinges, the other, a dark tunnel. The voice spoke from the tunnel: "I hoped you'd be more comfortable here...as you'll be calling it home for some time yet."

A man stepped from the tunnel. He was an older man, with close-cropped white hair, cold blue eyes, and a large full mouth that sloped downward at the corners. He was wearing a Guild uniform, only in white and gold. Joanna could hear Remy's breathing, raspy and loud and panicked. She pulled herself away from his support and stepped in front of him, shielding Remy from the unknown man.

The man smiled cruelly at her. "Still hiding behind a woman, Remy?" the man sneered. "I'd hoped you would have outgrown that by now."

"What do you want?" Joanna demanded in a dismissive sort of way, as if he were annoying her. "Who the hell are you?"

The man looked down his nose at her disdainfully. "Step aside, woman," he said and extended his arm to Remy beseechingly. "Remy...won't you come to me? You used to beg for my attention...you used to crave it."

"No!" Remy shouted, though now he was clutching the collar of his shirt. His skin had broken out into hives and his breathing was hoarse.

Joanna moved towards the man. Her arms reached out to seize him and force him back into the tunnel, away from Remy. She grabbed fistfuls of his robes and lifted him off his feet. She realized he had been holding something in his hand, out of sight in the folds of his robes. His arm jerked back, then forward, and it hit her in the stomach. If he thought he could stab her, he'd better think again. Her biceps bunched to toss the man back when suddenly, she found herself setting him back onto the floor. He appeared to recede from her, as if he were drawing to an enormous height. She realized then that he was not growing, but that she was shrinking. She saw her hands grow small and slip down the front of his cloak. Her scream began in her own normal voice, then grew high and frightened.

Her arms disappeared into the coat sleeves and the jacket enveloped her. She was growing small, small like Alice in Wonderland after drinking a potion. The man towered over her and she backed away hastily, tripping over her now oversized clothes. She shrieked again and again, scrambling towards Remy, back to where the table was. The table now rose above her head and she scurried under it, helplessly dragging at Remy's arm. He was on the ground, his breath wheezing in and out of his chest. When the man approached she shrank back in fear. He reached under the table as she pressed her back against the stone center, trapped with nowhere to hide. His paper dry hand touched her cheek.

"Such a lovely child," he said.

* * *

><p>Rothko sat up abruptly, ears pricked to attention. Logan had heard it too, a noise from upstairs.<p>

"And he never said anything at all strange when you were in the cemetery together?" Rogue pressed Bobby. "Nothin' that would've made you think he...that he was sick?"

Bobby shook his head, his mouth pressed into a line. Rogue opened her mouth again when Logan held up his hand.

"Somethin's goin' on upstairs," he said.

"Probably just Joanna kicking things again," Bobby said.

The dog hopped to his feet and padded out of the room. Logan followed, not waiting to see if Rogue or Bobby would join him. There was something else besides the sounds. A strange odor, sickly sweet and wrong. The dog was bolting up the stairs, a growl in his throat. Logan answered him. He smelled blood.

Logan took the stairs in three bounds. At the top of the landing he found two bodies.

"Logan?" Rogue called from below.

"Get up here!" Logan barked as he rolled over one of the figures. It was a gruesome disfigured man dressed in a black cape and cowl. The figure's pale eyes with tiny pinpricks for irises stared blankly upward. One body had had its neck broken, the other lay in a pool of congealing blood.

"Good God!" Rogue cried, as she and Bobby reached the top stair.

Logan stood and threw open the door to Remy's room, which had been left ajar. There was no sign of the other man inside but he could smell Remy's blood. He turned and looked at Rothko, who was sniffing the bodies intently. The dog then turned and ran down the hall.

"Frenzy said she saw a zombie!" Bobby exclaimed. "I thought she was just exaggerating!"

"Those aren't zombies," Logan said, running after the dog. "I don't know what those things are."

Rogue and Bobby pursued him down the corridor. Bobby banged on Joanna's door. "Frenzy!" he shouted. There was no answer. He pushed open the door to find her room empty. "She's gone!" he called after Logan and Rogue.

They had come to the end of the hallway. It was a dead end. The painting of a long-dead thief in Guild clothing stared back at them. Rothko was scratching at the wall and whining. Logan pushed the dog aside, then leaned his shoulder into the wood paneling. The wall slid aside.

"Sweet, secret passage Batman!" Bobby said.

"Look," Rogue said, pointing to the carpet. Drag marks had scored two dark lines in the weave of the carpet. The marks led to the open _passage._

Logan entered. It was very dark, but he could see a stone staircase leading downwards and a faint light coming from below. Rothko started down the stairs. "Let's go," Logan said, and quickly started down the steps. Rogue and Bobby followed him. The staircase switched back and forth on itself several times, each time taking them further downwards. The light began to grow brighter.

At the base of the steps, they found themselves in a round chamber. The walls and vaulted ceiling were all stone. There were a pair of dark wood doors before them. The room was lit with the glow of torches. "Where are we?" Bobby asked.

"We're underground," Rogue answered. "In the tunnels under New Orleans."

"That's impossible!" Bobby exclaimed. "There is no _underground_ in New Orleans. We're below sea level."

The doors on the other side of the room slowly opened. "You're correct, Robert," said a voice from the other side. Logan's claws flashed in the darkness and Bobby's form frosted, then turned a murky white, then cleared as he turned to ice. When the door opened fully, a man stepped into the open space. He was tall, with a white streak in his dark hair. His regal face was framed by a red and gold cape.

"Dr. Strange!" Logan exclaimed.

"Correct again," Dr. Strange replied. "You must come with me. We haven't much time."

* * *

><p><em>Next time: What The Antiquary wants.<br>_

_Surprise! Gambit's a twin! What could be better than one Gambit, but two? You could always go back and look for the clues I left in the earlier chapters. ;-)_

_Surprise again, Dr. Stephen Strange!_


	11. Silence

Remy was sitting at a long wooden table of polished dark wood that seemed to glow in the dim light. The armchair he sat on was also wood. His left arm was bound to the chair. Bindings also held him fast across his chest and thighs. Where the bindings met bare skin, his flesh had blistered and burned. His right hand rested on the tabletop, beside a sheet of blank white parchment. Beside the parchment was an ornate fountain pen. He stared at it because he couldn't seem to bring himself to look at anything else. The brass cup he'd prepared the spell-breaking concoction in was nearby, but out of reach. His mind felt overfull, the thoughts coming rapidly and disordered, as they did before they began to take flight. Soon he'd have no control at all.

He was in a chamber deep within the tunnels that ran beneath the city of New Orleans...the tunnels that really weren't under New Orleans at all, but someplace else entirely. The stone chamber was lit by the glow of a nearby hearth. The walls were lined with empty bookcases. There was a barred door in front of him. Behind him was another chamber, hidden by a curtain. Aside from the fire, all was still.

The curtain moved aside and The Antiquary moved to stand behind Remy. Remy felt the skin on his neck and shoulders grow taut. The older man stood silently, waiting.

Unable to bear the strain any longer, Remy spoke: "What do you want?" his voice was hoarse.

The Antiquary's hand came to rest to Remy's shoulder. He wanted to flinch. The older man lowered himself so that his mouth was close to Remy's ear. "I want what I've always wanted. Power," he whispered.

Remy wanted to cringe away from him. "What do you want from _me_?"

"You're possessed of certain knowledge," The Antiquary said. He tapped a finger against Remy's temple. "Here, in your otherwise empty skull. I want you to deliver it to me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Remy told him.

"I think you do, young man," The Antiquary replied. "I know you have the secrets of the Old Kingdom locked inside your mind...placed there by the man named Essex, who you call Sinister. Candra told me."

Remy felt distinctly ill, perhaps faint. It was true. Sinister had placed a great deal of information into his head when he restored him his powers some time in the past. Information about the Old Kingdom that Remy hadn't understood and had dismissed since discovering that he would never be the one to fulfill the Guild prophecy. "De Old Kingdom is lost," Remy told him. "There's nothing at all you need t'know."

"Do you think I give a damn about The Old Kingdom, about bringing peace on earth?" The Antiquary said. "Do you think Candra did either? It was only about my having power, the magic of the Kingdom. And her destroying her enemies... She told me you would possess the knowledge, but not the ability to use it. She told me I could have it...But I would have to wait until you were...older." He sounded disappointed.

Remy swallowed compulsively. "Sinister put it in my head, but I don't know how to get to it," he told him. That had been true. Until he'd read the passage in the blood-red book.

"You lie," The Antiquary said, putting a hand to Remy's chin and turning his face towards his own. Remy refused to look at him.

"You're not a telepath," Remy said. "You can't pull it out of my head."

"I don't need to," The Antiquary said, picking up the pen. "I intend for you to write it down."

Remy looked at him then, his red eyes meeting The Antiquary's crystal blue. He could not hold the gaze for long. "That could take years," he said.

"I'm a patient man," The Antiquary said.

"And if I refuse?" Remy asked.

"Then we'll go back," The Antiquary said with a smile, "to the beginning, until we find the truth. Perhaps we can start anew, from when you were young."

Remy began to shake. "No..." he said weakly.

"Or you can begin now," The Antiquary said, placing the pen in Remy's hand.

Remy's fingers curled around the pen.

* * *

><p><em>Next: Just what is Candra's freakin' problem anyway?<em>


	12. The Greatest

_Once I wanted to be...the greatest  
>No wind or water fall could stop me<br>And then came the rush of the flood  
>The stars at night turned you to dust<em>  
>-The Greatest, Cat Power<p>

Remy was borne aloft not by his own power, but under the forces Candra wielded with her mind. He was in her private chambers, held a few feet above the decorative rug. His own powers were flaring brighter than he'd ever known them to before. Energy crackled along his limbs, rebounding off of the telekinetic bubble he was held in, striking him, burning him. But he couldn't stop, she wouldn't let him no matter how much he begged.

"Learn to control it," she told him coldly. "Take it back into yourself, don't fight it."

He struggled uselessly against her will, crying out as she forced him to release yet more energy. It became incredibly bright and hot inside the bubble.

"It is not your powers that overwhelm you," Candra said. "It's your fear."

"Stop!" he shouted at her, gasping in desperation.

"Open your eyes, you fool," she said.

When he refused, she forced him to obey. He could see his hands clutched into fists before him. His flesh had seemed to melt away into bright white light. It was blinding. No, not blinding, but infinite. He could only see the outline of his hands and arms. Skin and muscle and bone hand vanished into a void of nothingness. When he looked at himself, he saw everything and nothing, going on and on for eternity. He was there and everywhere and nowhere. It was like looking into the eyes of God. Panic seized him and he forced the powers away from himself, drew himself back to sanity and reality. The room was real. Candra was real. The pain was real.

She dropped him to the rug where he fell in a heap. Remy gasped and shuddered as excess energy crackled off his skin. The room was suddenly dark.

"Useless," Candra said to herself. "If only I could have started _earlier_."

"What do you want from me?" Remy gasped. "I don't understand de point of this!"

"I want you to fulfill your purpose," she told him. "To do what you were made to do."

Remy had no purpose anymore. He was meant to unite the Guilds and lead them. He was meant to be a husband to BellaDonna. He was meant to be a thief. Now he was nothing. "What purpose?" he asked, his voice a sob that disappeared into the rug.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Candra said, her voice dull and flat. "You're a poor substitute. You're too weak. It's too late. And you could never defeat him."

Remy wanted to weep. "Stop talking in riddles! You're worse than my father!"

Candra laughed bitterly. "There's none worse than him," she spat.

"What is my purpose!" Remy shouted at her. "Defeat who!"

"Pray you never find out. Because if he finds you, he will destroy you."

Remy stood shakily. "Unless you manage t'do it first."

"I have no more use for you," Candra told him. She turned away. Remy flinched, believing this to be the last moment of his life. The thought didn't frighten him, not the way the infinite nothingness did.

"Go," Candra said. "Leave me. I won't have you here another moment."

He stared at her bare back, her long blonde hair was bright in the moonlight through the open window. "You're letting me go?" he asked, mystified. How long had he been here with her? Months at least, more than a year perhaps. And she was just going to release him. Just like that?

"I'm returning you to Jean-Luc," she said, staring out at the Parisian skyline. "He's welcome to you. You failure."

"You're nothing to me."

* * *

><p><em>Next time: It's a nice day for a white wedding.<em>


	13. When I Open My Eyes

_I don't know where to start,  
>I wanna tear you apart.<br>I feels as if emotions fly, emotions fly off.  
>I don't know how many times<br>I've undressed you with my eyes.  
>I like to see you through your window,<br>While I'm hiding.  
>It's been a long, long time,<br>When does the fine line die?  
>Can we just go out and make a sound<br>And not tell anyone?  
>I'm not scared, wait, I'm not scared.<br>It's my instinct, my instinct, always_  
>-When I Open My Eyes, Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr.<p>

It rained on their wedding which was supposed to mean good fortune. Remy supposed it didn't matter anyway, it was night and there would be no toasting, no music, and no dancing afterwards. He was nervous, even with his brother standing at the altar beside him. It might have been due to the fact that the church was half-full of assassins in full Guild regalia. More likely the growing sense of trepidation was a result of a lifetime experience of disappointment.

Things had seemed bleak when the matchmakers were pairing up boys with girls two years ago. Remy and Emil were in the same class. Emil was pretty certain that the matchmakers would be scraping the bottom of the barrel to turn up a girl for him. Him being from the most prolific family, he was related to just about everyone. He ended up paired with Marie-Therese from a lower ranking family, an overly pious girl who was a step away from becoming a nun. The most Remy could say about her was that she had very pretty hair. When Emil and Marie-Therese were matched, Marie-Therese raised her folded hands in earnest prayer, promising to be a good wife. Emil took it all in stride, like everything else. He was pretty sure that Marie-Therese's piousness was a guise for a more passionate nature. Remy believed that any children they had would be conceived through divine intervention.

Remy knew he'd have someone chosen for him. He was resigned to it. What he didn't want was to have to witness the reaction of whatever girl was matched to him. Emil said it could be anyone since Remy didn't have any blood relations. Something that for once worked in Remy's favor. He was just afraid that the girl matched to _Le Diable Blanc _might run screaming from the room. It would be a first. Remy found the clanswomen to be boring with their peaceful faces, uncut hair, and passive nature. He could see why Henri loved Mercy so much. At least she was interesting. Remy kept his eyes focused on the far side of the chamber, away from the girls. Remy's name was about to be called.

It was an intense surprise when the Assassins' Guild Master Marius Boudreaux appeared in the stone chamber with his son Julien and several senior Assassins' Guild members. Even more amazing was that the Thieves' Guild Council and Remy's father Jean-Luc were not at all astonished by this unprecedented event. Then Pierce announced that an agreement had been reached between the two warring Guilds.

"That Remy LeBeau, son of Jean-Luc LeBeau, will be matched to BellaDonna Boudreaux, daughter of Marius Boudreaux, uniting the Guilds under their conjoint leadership," Pierce was saying.

When Marius stepped aside, there stood BellaDonna wearing her Assassins' attire, her hair plaited in french braids on either side of her face. Her violet eyes met Remy's own from across the chamber. She smiled softly. Whatever else was said about the unification and the pronouncement of peace between the Guilds faded into the background. God had surely heard Remy and Belle's whispered conversations beneath the sheets of her bed. How else could their wishes have come true? If Remy had to be married to anyone, he would have wanted it to be her.

"To preserve the sanctity of this union, it has been agreed that the betrothed will have no contact or communication with one another until the day of their nuptials where the union will be recognized before the Guilds and the Eyes of God," Pierce continued.

Belle's smile snapped off her face as if flipped by a switch. It took a moment for Remy to comprehend Pierce's words. No contact? Surely they could still see one another at Tante Mattie's home, declared neutral ground for both Guilds?

"Any violation of these terms will result in the nullification of the agreement and the violators duly punished..."

Remy looked at Marius' face. It was a blank mask, just like his own father's. Julien's face betrayed his every emotion. Julien's eyes burned with a fury, but his mouth was twisted in a cruel smile. Remy glared back at the man with a hatred that nearly blinded him. Two years! Two years of not seeing his closest friend, the person he confided in? Two years for Belle to find no respite from her evil brother's ill intentions? How could this be? How could he feel such elation one moment and such bitter disappointment the next? Why did everything good in his life have to come with high price? Would he never be shown any mercy, any charity?

That was two long years ago, the longest of his life it seemed, and he still felt the sting of bitter disappointment. Now he would be seeing BellaDonna again in a matter of minutes. When she appeared at the end of the aisle, she was a vision of white floating like an angel in a sea of black and gray. Everything else dropped into the background. There was just Belle and she was smiling. They were both trapped in this, but they were trapped together. He wouldn't be alone.

When her hand was placed in his own, all the tragedy he experienced in the last two years, most of it self-inflicted, was forgotten. He felt a wave of relief. The vows were spoken, the rings were exchanged, they were pronounced man and wife. They kissed.

Remy was glad there would be no reception. He detested being the center of attention. So much better to make a big splash, then escape unnoticed while the fireworks were still going off. They ran through the rain to their new home, a modest older house at the far end of the Garden District. Far away from the Boudreaux house. And there was no way Remy was going to stay in the LeBeau home under the constant scrutiny of Jean-Luc.

Belle laughed when Remy picked her up and carried her over the threshold, the only acceptable time to enter the front doors of a home during times of joy. The home was mostly empty of furnishings. The floors were polished dark wood and everything else, every room, was painted white. Well, almost every room.

"Welcome home, wife," Remy told her setting her down onto the floor.

"Welcome home, husband," she responded.

"Would you like a tour?" he asked, gesturing expansively to the house.

"Lead the way."

Remy took her hand and they ran into the kitchen. She kicked off her shoes and ran in her stockinged feet. He picked her up and sat her on the kitchen countertop.

"Here's where you'll be preparing all my meals, wife," he told her.

"As long as you still like knuckle sandwiches, husband," she responded.

Setting her back down onto the kitchen tiles, he ran with her to the dining room. "Here's where we won't be eating all the meals you won't be cooking for me, wife."

They ran through the room into the next, a sitting room. There were two chairs covered with sheets. Belle ran to one and pushed it toward the other so they were positioned before the fireplace. She threw herself into the chair, Remy claimed the other. "Here's where I won't be darning your socks, husband," Belle said. "Where to next?"

Remy smiled. "There's still a few rooms upstairs."

Belle hopped to her feet and turned. "Help me out of this thing, won't you?" she asked.

Remy walked to her and unfastened the buttons of her gown. She threw the dress over her head and tossed it to the floor. A few leaves from the crown on her head fluttered to the ground. She was naked save for her stockings. There was a blade tucked into one of her garters.

"Belle! You're not wearing any underwear!" Remy exclaimed.

"Something old, something nude," she said, posing with her forefinger touched to her chin. "Or was that supposed to be '_new_'? I didn't read many wedding magazines."

"But you were in a church!"

She laughed and ran towards the stairs. Remy chased after her. She dashed up the steps, Remy hot on her heels. He caught her at the top of the steps. There was a room to their left. She looked inside. Half was painted pale blue, half painted pink. Belle turned to look at him. "It looks like you've made some plans."

"It's good to have goals."

"Speaking of which," she took the crown of oak leaves and mistletoe off her head and sat it on Remy's. "King of Thieves!" she pronounced.

"I've had enough of dis Guild nonsense for a lifetime!" he told her, pushing the crown back off his forehead.

He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. Their bedroom. There was a mattress on the floor. He tossed her onto it, then himself. Belle took the crown off Remy's head and stuffed it under a pillow. Together they pulled the bed coverings over their heads. Outside it continued to rain. The downpour was joined by lightning and thunder. Eventually, the storm passed. By morning the sun was out, promising a hot and humid day.

Belle gave a soft sigh. "You've got some new tricks," she said from under the sheet.

Remy looked into her eyes, playful. "I might have learned a few things."

"From who?" she asked, pinching his ear and twisting it.

"Uhm..."

Her face grew serious. "Remy," she said. "I missed you. I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, _mon coeur_."

"I was lonely..."

"Everything's gonna be all right now, Belle."

"There were others," she whispered. "Other men."

"Belle," he said quietly. "Please...just let's put it behind us. Let these last two years not have happened."

Her eyes were tearful. She searched his eyes for acceptance. Then the white sheet was torn away.

Remy felt himself hoisted by the arms, torn from Belle's embrace. She screamed. Remy was being held by two men, Guild assassins. Julien was there. He picked up the sheet, balled it up and threw it at BellaDonna.

"Cover yourself, slut!" he commanded.

"Julien, you sick-!" Remy gasped. A blade was pressed against his ribs. "Get out of our house!"

Julien turned on Remy. "Did you enjoy yourself with my sister, thief?" he spat. "I hope you treasure the memory of it. It will be the last time you ever have de pleasure." He had a blade in his hand.

"You're violatin' de peace!" Remy yelled at him, struggling against the men who held him.

"I don't plan on killin' you. De vows are consummated, as disgusting as that was," Julien said, taking a step forward. "So de marriage is complete. But if you think I'm going t'let you plant some demon in her belly-."

Belle clutched the sheet to her chest. A blade was in her hand, held against the folds of fabric. "Julien..." she snarled. He turned, raising his hand to strike her. Her hand lashed out, slashing him across the palm. He drew back with astonishment. Julien's expression soon turned to rage. Belle drew back her blade, readying it to strike. "You're dead," she hissed.

"You bitch..." Julien said quietly.

"Julien!" Remy cried. "Let her alone! It's me you want, coward! You strike a woman, you hide behind your father, you use people t'do your dirty work! You're pathetic!"

Julien rounded on Remy.

"I challenge you!" Remy screamed at him. "Your fight is wit' me!"

Julien laughed. "You can't take back your words, scum. I should like t'see a thief wield a blade. Will you even recognize one end from de other?"

Belle was shaking her head back and forth. No, no, no...

"You'll know which when I stick it in your throat, assassin," Remy spat.

Julien gave a signal and Remy was released. Remy's hand went to his side where he had been cut.

"You have an hour," Julien told him. "Say goodbye to your _wife_." The three assassins departed.

"I need t'find Henri," he told Belle.

"Remy, no. Don't go," Belle was weeping silent tears.

He went. An hour later he held a blade in his hand. He felt the weight of it. Swung it experimentally. It wasn't a staff. Thieves didn't hold swords. Swords were for killing. That was something assassins did.

"Don't do this t'ing, Remy," Henri said. "We will bring dis to de Council."

"Do you think that Marius won't stand beside his son? Do you think Julien will ever leave us alone?" Remy asked Henri.

"You'll be killed," Henri said. "Do you think you can protect Belle from de grave?"

"If I die...won't you look after her?" Remy asked.

"I won't make any promises I can't keep, Remy."

"I guess I can't die then," Remy told him.

The best Remy could do was mimic Julien. He would mime his stance and copy his movements. Remy knew defensive maneuvers. The thieves had been out-maneuvering the assassins for centuries. He narrowly missed having his sword arm sliced at the elbow. Instead, Julien's blade scored the interior of his forearm. Julien was grinning maliciously. Julien knew he was better. He knew he would win before they even began.

Remy danced backwards, jerked his head back as Julien swung for his throat. Remy no longer felt afraid. He could see death coming for him. Belle had struck back at her brother for the first time. She could protect herself. There was nothing more he could do.

In that moment, time seemed to slow down. When Julien swung again, Remy felt he had all the time in the world to evade it. A small adjustment and he would be out of range of the strike. Julien struck again, and Remy had the time to regard Julien's features, see the deranged look in his eyes, see the sheen of sickly sweat on the man's brow. Remy stepped aside, turned and now stood behind Julien. Julien's eyes couldn't track Remy's movements. Remy raised his sword almost languidly and the next strike was cast aside. Remy watched as the look of madness in Julien's eyes changed to surprise, the moment he realized he no longer had the advantage. Julien's lips and tongue appeared to be stained blueish black. Remy could hear Julien's breath come in strangled gasps coming in and out...slow, raspy.

Remy snaked his blade around Julien's and drew his sword upwards in one smooth motion. The blade slipped from Julien's weakening grasp. Remy watched as the freed blade flew upwards end over end. It was an easy thing to reach out and pluck it from the air. Almost puzzled, regarded the two blades he held in either hand. He crossed them and put them to either side of Julien's throat.

Julien's mouth gaped as he fell to his knees. As suddenly as it had begun, the sensation of slowed time ended. The world slammed into motion again. Remy regarded Julien where he knelt in the grass. Julien's face had drained of color. He was struggling to breathe. Realization crept into Remy's mind like a thief in the night. Belle had left nothing to chance. _You're dead_, she had said after slicing him with her blade. Poisoned, no doubt, an assassin's weapon. Poison, like the flower she was named for.

"Yield, Julien!" Remy told him. "You lose!"

"I-won't-let you-win!" Julien choked. Then he threw himself forward into the crossed blades. There was no spray of blood, it gushed sluggishly from his throat. His heart had all ready stopped.

* * *

><p><em>Next time: School daze.<em>


	14. I'm Sticking With You

_You held up a stagecoach in the rain  
>And I'm doing the same<br>Saw you hanging from a tree  
>And I made believe it was me<br>I'm sticking with you  
>'Cause I'm made out of glue<br>Anything that you might do  
>I'm gonna do too<em>  
>-I'm Sticking With You, Velvet Underground<p>

Remy's feet dragged along the corridor leading away from the study. He was exhausted. His foot caught a lump in the threadbare carpet, sending him stumbling. He prayed no one had witnessed that. It was enough to be ridiculed on his looks alone. Best not to give them any more ammunition.

The other clan children did not fight in the way Remy had learned on the streets. Out there, it was all or nothing, fists and feet flying, teeth biting, nails scratching, hair pulling. Anything you could lay hands on became a weapon at your disposal. The crazier you seemed, the less likely anyone was going to invade your turf, threaten you, or steal from you. Here in the Guild, it was different. Clan children were extremely silent. You never knew when one of them would come up from behind you, pop out from some shadow to grab you and deliver a well-aimed punch to the gut just to vanish again before you even hit the floor. Every doorway became a potential ambush. Any corner you were backed into became a trap.

Added to this was the stress of having to constantly play catch up with the others. He was seven years behind, still grouped with children much younger than himself. Jean-Luc worked with him outside of regular lessons well into the day, making Remy repeat tasks over and over again until they were perfected. Remy felt he could never do right in his adoptive father's eyes.

He was too old to go running to his brother Henri; Remy was nearly fourteen. Even if Mercy did let Remy hide in their room at night, he knew he was an intruder. They were in love in a way that was embarrassing to him. Even though they'd been married since before Remy had been adopted, they acted like newlyweds. He could always hitch a ride to Tante Mattie's house and hide in the blazing hot loft where at least he was safe. But that was beginning to get him a reputation for being a cowardly crybaby. The other alternative was to go to Belle's house, where Belle's brother made things lethally dangerous if he was caught. But Belle liked to hide under her covers with Remy and pretend they were married and that the house was theirs alone.

"I'm home! What's for dinner, _mon coeur_?" Remy would say, pulling the sheet over their heads.

"_Salut, me sha_...How about a knuckle sandwich?" Belle would reply. They would hold each other under the safety of their white tent and talk about what they'd do when they were older. Where they would go, the things they would see. How they'd have a family of their own.

That seemed like a distant dream at the moment. Remy was walking towards the kitchen. To the right was the corridor that led to the wing of the house where the students' dormitories were. He often tried to avoid it, taking a different route through the dining hall, into the study, and then up the stairs to relative safety. Students were still emptying out of the study, filling the foyer and blocking off his route. Remy would have to take the back stairs that once would have been used by servants. Several steps down the hall, he realized he would not make it to the stairs unscathed.

Two boys had appeared behind him, given away by a small sound of mirth. Remy slowly turned, wondering who would be delivering the torment this time. It was Emil and Etienne. That was somewhat of a relief. He knew the two boys to be more pranksters than bullies. He wouldn't be beaten, just humiliated. And not in the way some of the other boys humiliated him, by miming sex acts on him while making the crass sign for "scholar" which in their terms was synonymous with "faggot."

"Hey devil-eyes," Emil signed with a grin on his face. "You look a little hot. How about a quick dip?"

Remy tensed, holding his books in front of himself like a shield. There was only one meaning to that statement. They planned to upend him in the lavatory toilet. Remy turned to flee, but Etienne and Emil were all ready upon him. Emil was the same age as Remy, shorter but solidly built. Etienne was younger, but unfortunately, Remy was slight and stood little chance against the pair of them. They proceeded to drag him into the nearby washroom. He could call out, but that would bring punishment down on all of their heads. _Bouche ferme_...

Remy's books hit the tile floor with a smack, breaking the spine of one and sending paper scattering. Emil and Etienne were efficient, working as a seamless unit to drag their victim to the single toilet. They then proceeded to grab Remy's ankles to upend him. Remy's arm snaked free from Etienne's grip and he reached out to grab something, anything he could get his hand on. It ended up being the handle of a toilet plunger. He swung it, striking first Etienne in the back, then Emil in the skull. It was ridiculous and mostly harmless and Emil actually started to laugh. Remy was deposited onto the floor, not gently, where he sat sprawled in front of the toilet. Emil continued to laugh into the sleeve of his uniform, while snatching the plunger from Remy's grip. Remy became furious. He was tired of being mocked. He grabbed one of his nearby books and flung it. It flew haphazardly through the air and struck the wall. It exploded with a loud bang and flash of light.

The sound was very loud in the small enclosed space. Emil immediately stopped laughing. He and Etienne looked at the singed crater in the wall, where pieces of smoking paper were still fluttering to the floor. Then they looked at Remy, astonished. Remy stared back at them, equally surprised.

"Whoa..." Emil said aloud.

Etienne signed: "The Voice will have heard that! He'll be here any second!"

Emil nodded and the pair again seized Remy by the arms.

When Pierce threw open the bathroom door, Etienne, Remy, and Emil were hanging outside from the bathroom windowsill by their fingertips, dangling over the thorn bushes below. Through the tiny crack between the window and the sill, they could spy Pierce enter the lavatory, survey the damage, then depart. No doubt to report his findings to Jean-Luc. When Pierce was gone, Emil pulled himself up onto an elbow and shoved the window open. He disappeared over the ledge. Etienne quickly scrambled up as well. Remy looked down, debating whether the bushes below would break his fall or scratch him to ribbons. His wrists were seized and he was dragged back into the bathroom.

"That was cool!" Emil signed. "How did you do that?"

Remy stared at him. "I don't know..." he signed back.

"Can you do it again?" Etienne asked.

Remy nodded.

"What else can you blow up?" Emil asked.

"Lots of things..." Remy began. "Small things mostly. I blew up a melon once."

Emil looked excited. "Show us!" he excitedly signed.

"Not here," Remy said, looking at the damage to the wall and to the book.

"Where?" Etienne asked. "Where can we go?"

Remy was torn. This was the longest conversation he'd had with any of the boys his own age. They seemed excited, not frightened. On one hand, they were not his friends, not like Belle was. He didn't think he could trust them. He didn't want to let them into the only place he ever felt safe. On the other hand, he felt in his heart that he wanted to please them, to do anything that would make them like him.

Hesitantly, he made the sign for "_Traiteur_," then "...her house. I can blow things up there without anyone seeing."

Etienne made a face. "It's so far," he signed. "How will we get there?"

Again, Remy faltered. "Mercy could take us...in her car."

If anything, Emil's face grew brighter. He and Etienne looked at each other eagerly. "You think she will?" Emil gestured expansively. There was a particular sign that meant "Mercy LeBeau" that all the teenage boys knew. There weren't many boys who hadn't spent time alone without thinking about Remy's beautiful sister-in-law. Remy didn't see the attraction. Sure, he could appreciate she was pretty, but she was Henri's woman.

Remy nodded, trying to look confident. "I can go ask now," he told them. "If we can go up the main staircase."

Emil and Etienne quickly shuffled Remy to the door. Etienne peered out, looking for Pierce. He gave the sign that said: "All clear! Let's go!"

They hustled back towards the study, where several older boys were loitering. No doubt some of the young clan women would be at their music lessons inside the study. Remy got a scowl from the boys, but he was flanked on either side by Emil and Etienne who were both grinning like fools. Satisfied that Remy was being taken to certain doom, the older boys let them pass. Remy ran ahead up the steps, the other two boys behind him. He ran down the hall to the right, just as Jean-Luc's door was opening.

"Remy..." Jean-Luc began.

Remy waved to him and kept running. They rounded a corner, Emil and Etienne both aghast that Remy had been so disrespectful of their Guild Master. "Aren't you afraid you're going to get a whipping?" Emil signed.

"He doesn't hit hard," Remy replied hurriedly. They were now in the quarters reserved for family. Mercy and Henri had their own section of the house to themselves. Remy came to a stumbling halt in front of their bedroom door and pushed it open without pausing to knock.

Mercy was inside folding laundry. She was out of uniform, wearing very short cut offs and one of Henri's shirts that hung on her in a way that left very little to the imagination. She gave Remy an irritated look.

"Can you give me a ride?" he asked aloud.

She put her finger to her lips. "Hush up now, _casse-pied_. What d'you think you're doin' runnin' down de hall like a herd of elephants?"

"_Je m'excuse_," he said, slightly out of breath.

She shook her head impatiently and waved him into the room. Emil and Etienne spilled in after him, looking gape-mouthed at Mercy. She put her hands on her hips.

"What's dis den?" she asked.

"Please, Mercy..." Remy began. "Would you please take us to Tante's house?"

"De _three_ of you?" she asked.

Remy nodded emphatically.

She sighed. "I knew dere was somethin' _odd_ about you. Oh, all right. If y'all help me finish with dis here pile of clothes, I'll take you."

The three boys gathered around the laundry basket. This was definitely women's work, but the payoff might be worth it. Mercy's delicates were mixed in with Henri's socks. Emil began laughing giddily.

"Nevermind, you odds," Mercy said, slapping Emil in the back of the head. "Let's just get in de car."

"_Shotgun!_" Remy cried.

* * *

><p><em>Next time: The Trial of Gambit, The Prequel.<em>


	15. I Was Never Young

_I was never young, even as a child  
>I was never young, I always felt beguiled<br>No I just never smiled  
>But you, you have a glow, a glow from an innocence I'll never never know<br>'Cause I was never young, even as a boy  
>No I was never young, kindness seemed a ploy to temper or alloy<br>But you, you have a mind full of a wonderment I'll never never find  
>'Cause I was never young<em>  
>-I Was Never Young, Of Montreal<p>

Remy was shaking. There were few times in his life that he'd been as scared as this. They were in a small round chamber lit with the glow of torches. The door before them was closed, but he knew what was beyond.

Jean-Luc crouched beside Remy, so that he could bring his blue eyes level with Remy's own red ones. "You must be brave," Jean-Luc told him.

Remy nodded. He'd do anything Jean-Luc asked of him, even if it were scary. He desperately wanted to make his father love him, to make him proud. "You will be asked to speak. You won't be harmed as long as you speak truly," Jean-Luc continued. "You mustn't lie...tell de whole truth, all of it."

Remy put his shaking hands underneath his arms to steady them.

"Father," Henri said. "Dis is unheard of."

What was unheard of was for Henri to question Jean-Luc. Henri's words frightened Remy more than what was beyond in the chamber.

"These are extreme circumstances," Jean-Luc replied. He put his hands on Remy's shoulders. Remy leaned into his father's touch. It rarely happened the Jean-Luc would touch him. He wiped his face hurriedly and swallowed his tears.

"What makes you t'ink they'll listen t'him? He's just a child," Henri argued.

"Not to dem, he's not," Jean-Luc replied coldly. "Remy, _ecoute-moi_. What you do will help so many others...you'll be doin' a good thing even if it seems wrong. You'll be helpin' de Guild, de clans, and de other children...de ones who are still trapped."

Remy nodded his understanding. "I have to go in now," Jean-Luc told him. "Remember. Be brave."

When Jean-Luc stood and stepped back, Remy seized his father's hand. Jean-Luc paused a moment, then pulled his hand free from Remy's grasp. The door opened and Jean-Luc stepped into the chamber beyond.

Henri's hand touched the top of Remy's head. "Everything is gone be all right," Henri informed him. "I'll be dere. You don't look at anything else in dere but me, _mon frere_."

Remy looked away from the door to look up at his brother. Henri continued: "If you don't know what t'do, I'll let you know. You just keep your eyes on me."

Henri held Remy's hand when the door reopened. He would have to go into the chamber now. The first thing inside the door was a man seated in a chair. Remy did not look at him. Along the length of the wall were stone risers, with the most senior members of the Guild at the front, and the lower ranking thieves on the risers behind. The nine men who served as Guild Council were seated at the front on a bench. Eight of the nine positions were filled. Jean-Luc would normally preside at the highest position, but Henri was to stand in his place today. On the left was a stone table. Behind the stone table were the monsters. Remy must not ever, ever look at them. To look at them was to die. The table before the monsters was set with the tools of their trade, the instruments of death. In front of Remy was another chair. It was meant for an adult. He would be sitting in it today. Henri guided him towards it. Remy hated this place. It made his head hurt, his eyes water, and his nose run. He felt a tickle in his throat and tried to suppress a cough. It came out as a strangled sound.

Many of the Guild members were tense. He could sense their alertness. They looked at one another covertly, sending messages to one another with their eyes. They had not expected to see _Le Diable Blanc_ here, or anywhere. Jean-Luc was standing beside the empty chair. Henri helped Remy sit in it before joining the Council. Remy looked forward at the man directly across from him. Remy recognized him from before; before the time Jean-Luc found him and before he had run the streets with Fagan's Mob. Remy couldn't swallow. The man was sitting in his chair as if it were a throne and not the seat of a man accused of crimes against the Guild. His disdainful aristocratic face was still until Remy's eyes met his own. Then the haughty veneer slid aside revealing a look of shock and surprise. His mouth opened as if to shout a demand. He instead looked at Jean-Luc with intense malice. Jean-Luc stood stoically.

There were manacles on the arms of the chair Remy was sitting on. His arms were too thin to be shackled properly. One of the monsters glided forward holding two lengths of rope and Jean-Luc held out his hand. The wraith paused, looking at Jean-Luc from behind his faceless cowl. With reluctance, the creature gave Jean-Luc the ropes. The Guild Master himself tied his son's arms to the chair. Jean-Luc had told him what would happen. He trusted his father implicitly. He wouldn't be hurt.

A second monster came forward. This time Jean-Luc could do nothing. There was a loop of string in the creature's emaciated fingers. The other hand held a short wooden rod. Remy's eyes went to where Henri was sitting so he could look away from the creature. He felt the string wind around each finger of his right hand. When each finger was looped once, the creature put the rod into the loop of slack string and began to twist the rod until the string grew taut. If Remy should lie, the rod would be turned, and the string would tighten around each finger. He would lose his smallest finger first, then the ring finger, and then...but only if he didn't tell the whole truth.

Remy breathed in and out through his mouth and stared at Henri. Henri's eyes gazed fixedly ahead, but Remy knew Henri saw him. Remy saw Mercy in the back row with the lower-ranking thieves. She was looking at Remy, a pinched look on her face, like she needed to sneeze. She seemed angry, but then she always did. Remy believed she hated him.

"Council," Jean-Luc addressed the nine men. "Guild members. We are gathered to stand tribunal for this man, known to us as The Antiquary. Keeper of the Velvet Ministry and of the knowledge of the Old Kingdom. He is accused of, at least, misappropriation of Guild resources and destruction of Guild property, and at worst-theft. Of which the punishment for is death."

"How do you answer to these accusations?" Henri asked The Antiquary.

"I applaud your farce, Jean-Luc. This is all very amusing," The Antiquary responded. "Where did you come by that child, who is by all accounts dead? If anyone is to be accused of theft, it's you!"

"Dis child was entrusted to your care. His apparent death and obvious displacement was a result of your negligence. Answer de question. How do you plead?"

"I am not guilty!" The Antiquary shouted.

"You've heard his answer," Jean-Luc told the Council. "Now you will listen to de testimony of our Witness."

The second-ranking thief in the Guild spoke now: "Jean-Luc. Dis is a child. Since when do we listen to children speak...let alone testify?"

"You know as well as I that this is more than a child. This is _Le Diable Blanc_, reborn from de flames we believed had killed him. He belongs to dis Guild. To all of us. He will speak. You see for yourselves that _Les Choisi_ have ensured he will speak honestly."

Jean-Luc would hear no more from the Council. He addressed Remy. "Do you know this man?" he asked, pointing to The Antiquary.

Remy nodded.

"Speak," Jean-Luc told him.

Remy looked at Henri. Henri's eyes slowly blinked. "Yes," Remy answered aloud.

"Who is he?" Jean-Luc asked.

"De Antiquary," Remy responded.

"Where do you know him from?"

"De Velvet Ministry," Remy answered.

"How long were you in The Velvet Ministry?" Jean-Luc questioned. "Do you remember?"

Remy hesitated. His memories weren't so clear of when or how he'd come to leave The Velvet Ministry. "I don't-," he began when he felt the rod begin to turn. The twine around his smallest finger tightened. "Before!" Remy shouted. "Before I met Fagan! I was dere!"

"What did you do there, Remy? Did you study?" Jean-Luc asked.

Remy looked at Henri. His mouth tightened. "No," Remy said slowly.

"Did you learn your letters and numbers?"

"No," Remy answered again.

"Did you practice at music? Play an instrument?"

"No," Remy answered. This he was certain of.

"Did you draw? Did you so much as hold a pencil? A crayon?"

Remy shook his head, but then remembered he had to answer aloud: "No."

Jean-Luc looked at the Council. "Do you understand The Velvet Ministry's purpose, Remy?"

He thought a moment, hoping Henri would give him a clue. Henri's mouth tightened. "No," Remy said finally.

"It is a house of study, Remy," Jean-Luc answered, but he was still addressing the Guild. "A place of learning. Where you were to read, and write, and keep the history of our Guild. To share for future generations. And yet, you were not prepared for any of these things."

Remy wasn't sure if he should answer this. "No?" he said.

Jean-Luc looked at him, and he knew he shouldn't have spoken. Remy fixed his eyes back on Henri.

"Tell us," Jean-Luc began. "What _did_ you do? Were you idle?"

Remy didn't know the word "idle." Henri's mouth was still, but his eyes blinked. "Yes. Idle."

"You did nothing at all?" Jean-Luc asked.

He tried to think. There must have been things he did while he was there. "I was hidden," he told Jean-Luc.

"You hid?" Jean-Luc asked. "Or you were hidden?"

Remy couldn't answer, and Henri's face told him nothing. "I don't-," and the twine tightened again. He yelped in pain and tried to pull his arm away, but he was bound fast to the chair. "I was in de closet! He left me there!" he answered. "He locked me in."

"Why?" Jean-Luc asked.

Remy couldn't help but to start to cry. He couldn't even wipe his tears. Henri's face was bleak. Mercy's face was red. Jean-Luc was looking at him. "Answer," he said.

"He said I was a distraction," Remy said. "Too stupid. Dat I was useless."

"Did he hurt you?" Jean-Luc asked.

"N—no, yes...! I don't know!" He heard himself shriek when the rope cut through his skin. He began to hiccup.

Jean-Luc put his hand over Remy's left hand.

"This is enough, Jean-Luc," the other thief said. "We've heard his testimony."

"Remy, tell the Council what this man did to you. Tell them the truth. All of it. Every detail you can recall."

Remy saw that Henri's eyes were closed, as if he were in pain.

"Nothing!" Remy shouted in a panic, and the bindings tightened again. "No! He told me I was good for nothing! That I'm stupid! He said he was waiting!"

Jean-Luc blinked. It was the first reaction Remy had seen his father make. "Waiting for what?" he asked.

"Until I was older..." Remy answered miserably. "Then he'd let me out."

"That's enough," Jean-Luc finally said. "We'll hear nothing more. You can go, Remy."

Remy felt the bonds loosen. He held his arms against his body. He didn't know what to do now. Mercy stepped down from the risers and came for him. He almost shied away from her, but her hand gripped his forearm and nearly dragged him from the chair. Remy stumbled after her as they left the chamber. She was walking quickly. Her legs were so much longer than his. She took him into the small round chamber and then up the staircase. When they got to the first landing, her hand slammed against the wall and the panel flew forward. They entered the sitting room. Tante Mattie was there, sitting in a chair twisting a handkerchief in her hands.

When Remy saw her he pulled himself free from Mercy's grip and ran forward. Tante Mattie held him against her for a long time. She told him he was safe, that everything was going to be okay now.

"I could kill him!" Mercy screamed.

"Mercy, hush!" Tante Mattie said. Remy was scared. He knew Mercy hated him, but he didn't know she wanted to kill him.

"You didn't hear it!" Mercy continued. "You didn't see what they put him through!"

"Sit down, Mercy. Keep a civil tongue in your head."

"I need a drink!" Mercy shouted. Remy could hear her rummaging around in the cabinet behind them, the tinkle of glass and pouring of liquid. He heard Tante Mattie sigh tiredly.

"Let me see your fingers," she told Remy. She took his right hand in her own and looked at the red marks on each finger, the broken skin on his smallest finger. She tsked and held his hands between her own. "I can have that fixed for you in no time..." she hesitated, thinking for a moment. "I'd better get some ointment and a bandage."

She deposited him onto the chair and left him alone with Mercy. Mercy drained her glass and slammed it onto a table. She stood there a moment breathing in and out. Slowly she turned to face Remy. He shrank back into the chair as she approached.

"You poor thing!" Mercy said, and she hugged him. Her shoulders began to shake. She was crying. "You're just a little boy!"

This was the first time Mercy had called him a little anything other than a pest, nuisance, or pain in the neck. Mercy was still holding him to her chest when Tante Mattie returned. Remy looked at her pleadingly. "I'm so sorry, Remy," Mercy said. "I shouldn't have called you names. I didn't mean it. You're not stupid at all. That man is a liar."

"Now, Mercy," Tante said. "You're smotherin' him. Let de poor child breathe. And take a deep breath yourself, while you're at it."

Mercy pulled away, her chest going up and down. She held Remy's face in her hands and kissed him multiple times. Tante Mattie shooed Mercy away, then knelt on the floor in front of Remy. She took his injured hand in one of her own, and cleaned the cut with the other. While she was working, Henri appeared from behind the hidden panel in the wall. Mercy ran to him and threw herself into his arms with a fresh wave of tears.

Henri rubbed her back and held her while looking at Remy. "You were very brave," Henri told Remy. Remy didn't feel very brave.

"What-what did they decide?" Mercy said.

Henri sighed.

Jean-Luc appeared next. "Exiled," Jean-Luc said.

"What!" Mercy exclaimed. "You put Remy through that just t'get The Antiquary banished!"

"Mercy, please calm yourself," Henri told her. That was also something new to Remy. Henri never told Mercy what to do, not ever.

"It's as much as we could have hoped for," Jean-Luc said, striding into the room. He stood before the fireplace mantle. "He willfully neglected his duties to de Guild, failed to uphold his post."

"He abused a child! Locked him in de closet!"

"That has nothing t'do with de tribunal. They only see Remy as property," Jean-Luc explained. "De only way be rid of The Antiquary was to convince the Council he'd damaged and lost _Le Diable Blanc_."

"I hope it was worth it," Mercy continued hotly. She had at least stopped screaming. "Traumatizing your own son."

"The Antiquary is more dangerous than you could know," Jean-Luc said wearily.

"So you send Remy before _Les Choisi _like a fatted calf," Mercy angrily wiped her face.

"Mercy, go upstairs and lay down," Henri told her.

Mercy was flabbergasted. She looked at Henri in a way that clearly said that he would be hearing her opinions later. She stormed from the room.

"You should take her in hand, Henri," Jean-Luc said.

"Please don't tell me how to be a husband to my wife," Henri said, and followed Mercy from the room. Remy couldn't stop himself from bursting into tears.

Jean-Luc rubbed a hand over his face. "And now I have both sons upset wit' me."

"Let's us go upstairs too, Remy," Tante Mattie told him. "I'll give you something to help you sleep."

"A moment, Tante," Jean-Luc said. He walked over to Remy and crouched beside the chair. "Remy, please believe me that I would never have put you through that if I didn't believe it would be worth it. I'm sorry you were hurt. Can you forgive me?"

Remy looked into his father's face. He nodded.

"You can speak," Jean-Luc said quietly and put his hand on Remy's shoulder.

"Yes, poppa. I forgive you. Anything," he said.

Jean-Luc surprised Remy by embracing him. Remy held very still, like he did when he'd found the feral kittens in Mattie's shed. Afraid any movement would make them scatter and that he'd never get to hold one of them. Cautiously, he held a fold of his father's shirtfront in his injured hand. He felt warm, a rare feeling for him since he always felt cold. Eventually, Jean-Luc drew away and put his hands on either side of Remy's head. "You're a very good son," he said.

Tante Mattie took Remy's hand and led him from the room. She took him up the stairs to his bedroom, his new room since moving from Tante Mattie's house not that long ago. She helped him take off his student's uniform even though he was too old for that sort of thing anymore. She made him get into bed even though it wasn't anywhere near to dawn yet.

"Do you want to hear your book?" she asked him.

"No," he said. "Father is disappointed."

"Not wit' you, Remy."

Remy didn't answer.

"He loves you very much," Tante Mattie told him. She combed his hair with her fingers.

"How can you tell?" he asked, his face half hidden in the pillow.

"Because...Jean-Luc couldn't be prouder t'have a son like his own Henri. Henri's his own flesh and blood. But you aren't," Tante Mattie said.

"I know dat..." Remy said wearily.

"Jean-Luc picked you," Mattie said quietly and kissed his head. "You're de one he loves best. You're de son he _chose_."

* * *

><p><em>Next time: A drive to the countryside...<em>


	16. Drawn Into The Pack

_Yeah, when I was only seventeen  
>I could hear the angels whispering<br>So I drove into the woods and wandered aimlessly about  
>Until I heard my mother shouting through the fog<br>It turned out to be the howling of a dog  
>Or a wolf, to be exact<br>The sound sent shivers down my back  
>But I was drawn into the pack and before long<br>They allowed me to join in and sing their song  
>So from the cliffs and highest hills<br>Yeah, we would gladly get our fill  
>Howling endlessly and shrilly at the dawn<br>And I lost the taste for judging right from wrong  
>For my flesh had turned to fur<br>Yeah, and my thoughts they surely were  
>Turned to instinct and obedience to God<em>  
>-Furr, Blitzen Trapper<p>

Remy knew he was in trouble. Big, big trouble. This was new territory for him. He couldn't believe his luck when the other member of the Mob agreed to give Remy a prime section of turf in a more affluent part of the French Quarter that teemed with tourists. They'd agreed to swap because Remy's less profitable slice of this area was closer to their hideout. At least that's what he'd been told, now he wasn't so sure. It appeared he'd been sent to his doom. This place was a lot more dangerous. He should have spent the first week scoping out the lay of the land, getting an idea of all the possible escape routes and hidey-holes. But he was hungry. And too eager to prove himself amongst the other Mob children. And it was too late now.

He was in an outdoor cafe, picking the pocket of a likely target when the target's hand descended on him faster than a viper's strike. The man now held a fistful of Remy's lanky hair. If he'd been grabbed anywhere else, Remy would have been able to squirm free. His clothes were layered and oversized, his limbs stick-thin. Instead the man had tangled his fingers into Remy's long hair, the hair that made him unrecognizable as a boy or as a girl. He thought it was to his advantage to look as a girl, to better garner sympathy while begging. Some of the predators lurking about didn't care one way or another, a victim was a victim, but there were those who preferred girls, so there were times he could be a boy. His gender-swapping strategy was definitely working to his disadvantage now.

He squirmed painfully in the man's grip as one of the waitstaff hurried over to the cafe table. "I'm so sorry, _mis'seu_!" the cafe proprietor was saying.

Remy's former target casually took his napkin from his lap and placed it onto the cafe table. "Please send de bill to my address," the target responded. "You can be assured it will be taken care of."

"Please,_ mis'seu_! I won't trouble you!" the proprietor said. "Shall I call the authorities?"

"_Non_," the target said. "I will handle this myself. If I may exit through the rear of your establishment?"

"Of course!"

Remy realized he was going to be dragged into the cafe's interior. He began twisting, clawing at the hand clamped tight to his skull. Some of the other tourists were watching. He opened his mouth to scream. Maybe someone would stop the man from taking him. The man pulled Remy tight against him and clamped a hand over his mouth. He was lifted bodily from the ground and walked through the cafe, through the door used by the waitstaff and into the kitchen.

Remy kicked and screamed against the man's hand. His arms were pinned down under the man's arm, but he could swing his forearms. He tried to angle a strike at his captor's groin. He was shifted to the side and now was dangling under the man's arm like a sack of potatoes. They passed through the kitchen and out the rear exit, through an unmarked and dented steel door. The door was opened and they were stepping down a cement staircase into a back alley. There was a dark car in the alley. A man was standing beside the open rear driver's side door.

This was worse and worse. Getting into a strange man's car only meant one thing. Remy's struggles only increased with his panic. His teeth sank into his captor's fingers. The man sucked in a breath but did not release his grip. Remy was forced to swallow a mouthful of blood. He gagged.

"Sir?" the waiting man said.

"It's him," his captor said. "If you could please hand me a handkerchief, Pierce. He's bitten me."

Remy was shoved into the vehicle. At first he attempted to claw his way out but then saw the man was coming in after him. He threw himself at the opposite door. He seized the handle and began pulling. It wouldn't open. His fingers scrambled at the lock. It moved up and down, but still the door would not open. The door behind him slammed, sealing him and the man inside. Remy turned and threw himself against the door to face his captor, preparing to attack. He would start by kicking, then claw the man's eyes out.

The man was sitting and staring at him. The driver entered the front door and seated himself before the steering wheel. There as a divider between the front and rear seats with a window that allowed him to see the back of the driver's head. Remy thought about leaping through the window and attacking the driver. The driver handed back a handkerchief through the window and the man took it. "Another? For de boy's face?" The man asked, and the driver complied. A dark window rolled up hiding the driver from view.

The man extended the scrap of fabric to Remy who shrank back against the door. When Remy didn't move, the man set the handkerchief onto the seat and wrapped the other around his bleeding fingers. The car began to move and Remy renewed his assault on the door. He could see the vague outlines of the outdoors through the dark glass. His breath fogged the window. Where were they taking him?

"You won't be harmed, Remy," the man said. Icy fear crawled across Remy's skin, the sharp metallic taste of panic was in his mouth. The man knew his name.

The vehicle pulled out into traffic and they rode slowly down the city streets of New Orleans.

"Do you know me?" the man asked.

Remy stared at him. The man had a timeless face, bearded, with long light brown hair. He looked like someone but no one. There was nothing at all remarkable about him, except his eyes were blue like a bird's egg.

When he gave no answer, the man told him: "I'm Jean-Luc LeBeau."

Remy shrank down into the seat, then further onto the floor. He knew that name. He knew to dread it. This man was going to kill him. There was no way the Master of the Thieves' Guild was going to have his pockets picked by some orphan urchin from Fagan's Mob. They'd make an example of him for sure. Fagan himself had told Remy that the children taken by the Guild were never heard from again. Fagan had laughed like it was a joke. Remy was going to wet himself. He was going to be sick.

"Sit up on de seat, Remy. You'll feel better."

Remy refused to comply. He curled himself into a ball on the floor, feeling the motion of the car jolt and shake him. He felt his mouth water with bile.

"Pierce, would you please open a window," Jean-Luc said.

The rear window rolled down a crack. Remy threw himself at it. He could only fit his fingers through, and the glass was too thick to shatter. He could feel the air from outside blowing in his face. The car was traveling much faster now. He'd never been in a car before. The ground was flying past. He could see other cars and drivers but they could not see him.

Jean-Luc seized the back of Remy's oversized coat and forced him to sit. Remy flew at him, arms flailing. He was pinned and held tightly to Jean-Luc's side. "Stop," Jean-Luc said. "Be still."

After several long minutes of struggle, Remy gave up and hung limply. He could see that the city was slipping away, and now they were driving out over the lake. He wasn't going to be made an example of after all. They were going to kill him, chop him up, and feed him to the 'gators.

Jean-Luc released him and he slid bonelessly to the floor again with a wail of despair. Please don't let them force him first. Please don't let them torture him. He didn't want to be cut up. Maybe he'd be strangled. He'd seen someone strangled before. It was ugly and horrible, eyes and tongue bulging...But it was better than being sliced to pieces. The motion of the car was making him more and more nauseated. When would it end?

The car only seemed to roll and shake more. He could hear the crunch of gravel beneath the car's tires. The car was moving more slowly now. Remy clamped his hands over his mouth. He was going to throw up.

"Pierce, stop the car," Jean-Luc said.

The vehicle drew to a halt. Jean-Luc reached over Remy to the far door. He opened it. Remy saw sunlight and green grass beyond from his place on the floor. Jean-Luc wasn't moving. Remy flung himself from the vehicle and stumbled out into a rutted path. He heaved in the grass, but there was nothing in his stomach so all that came up was bile.

Hurriedly, he wiped his eyes and nose on his coat sleeve. He could see an expanse of long grass, trees drooping with moss, patches of water. He was out in the bayous. Any step in the wrong direction could be his last. He would disappear into a sinkhole without a sound and not find his way back out through the switchgrass. There was only one path he could see. The rutted path that stretched out before the car. He bolted down it. Behind him, he heard the car door slam. He risked a glance behind and saw Jean-Luc and the man Pierce emerge from the car and begin to walk slowly toward him. Remy's foot struck a root and he fell forward into the dirt. The wind was knocked from his body and he gasped for breath. He scrambled to his feet, trying to run. The men were just behind him.

He came through the long grass to find himself looking at a cabin. There were skulls. There were shrunken heads. Bones and shells hung from the cabin's eaves. A goat painted with blood wandered over to the fence and peered over it.

"Meh," it said.

Remy shrieked and veered off the path. There was a small shed to the right. He bolted for it. The door to the shed opened and chickens scattered excitedly. A woman stepped down from inside the shed, holding a rake in one hand and a bucket of chicken feed in her other. Remy skidded to halt and his feet slid out from under him in the damp grass. He landed with a thump on his backside. The woman pushed her wide-brimmed hat back off her head and looked at him. She was short and stout, with her dark hair plaited into thick braids. Her face was open and kind. She wasn't a witch at all.

"Remy," said Jean-Luc from the path behind him. "Do you recognize dis woman?"

The woman put down her bucket and leaned the rake against the shed. Remy ran forward and threw himself into Tante Mattie's arms.

* * *

><p><em>Next time: What Jean-Luc and Tante Mattie were hiding.<em>

_Hey guys, FYI, I had been putting up two shorter chapters at a time, so make sure you didn't miss any of them. I hope that you are all along for this ride. Hey, and whoever likes my Indie music, please make some suggestions! I am always looking for something new to listen to. _

_I have finished Part I, there are five more chapters left in it, and I've started Part II. I am hoping to finish posting the rest of Part I before I leave on my trip to Paris next week! Then you'll have to wait a week with nothing! _


	17. Sons & Daughters of Hungry Ghosts

_So I got a plan  
>It's the best that I can do<br>Now we'll say it's in God's hands  
>But God doesn't always have the best goddamn plans<br>Does he?_  
>-Sons &amp; Daughters of Hungry Ghosts, Wolf Parade<p>

He'd been here for hours. It was dark. He was in the supply closet lying on the second shelf amidst the quilts, blankets, and sheets. It smelled like laundry soap, and bleach, fake pine and fake lemons, and other cleaners, dust from the feather duster and vacuum. He put his hands between the folds of the cool smooth sheets. There was something hidden inside. The little patchwork doggie Tattie had given him. In the darkness, he couldn't see it, but he could feel it had button eyes and little leather flaps for ears. He held the doggie to his nose and mouth. He was named Pierrot, like the friend in the song.

He sang the song that Tattie taught him. His voice kept him company. _"Au clair de la lune...Mon ami Pierrot...Prête-moi ta plume...Pour écrire un mot...Ma chandelle est morte...Je n'ai plus de feu...Ouvre-moi ta porte...Pour l'amour de Dieu..." _

In the song, the singer wanted to borrow Pierrot's pen and candle. He was knocking at the door, asking to be let in. But Pierrot was asleep. Luckily, there was a pretty girl living next door. The God of Love wanted to come into the girl's house, so she opened her door. He looked for a pen and he looked for a light. Remy supposed the girl helped him. Remy didn't know if they found what they were looking for because the song ended when the man and the woman closed the door behind them.

The door to the closet was closed and locked. They had thrown the deadbolt at the top of the door so that he could not get out. Tattie knew where they hid him. When the scholars were asleep and she'd tucked the other children in their beds she would come find him. Tattie would hold him for a while before she cleaned the house. Then he would follow her around the house, touching the treasures, looking at the books he didn't read. Sometimes he would look in the room where the other children were, but they were all asleep. Tattie could never stay for very long because there were other children and other houses she needed to go to. But she always cried when she had to return him to the closet. The Antiquary would be angry to know she'd let him out.

Remy saw a line of light appear. The closet door was opening, even though it wasn't yet dawn. He pulled the blankets around him, a little afraid. Tattie was standing there, a dark silhouette against the faint light from the hall. "Come, Remy," she said.

She'd come early. Maybe he would get to see one of the other boys or girls. He held his Pierrot.

Tattie crouched and scooped him off the shelf, blanket and all. She backed out of the closet and turned. She did not close the door behind her. Tattie began to walk down the hall with Remy in her arms. But they were going the wrong way, in the opposite direction of the children's room. They were walking towards a tall window at the end of the hall.

Remy could see the closet from over Tattie's shoulder. There was someone else in the hall, a man. He was holding something in his arms as well. A bundle wrapped in a blanket. The bundle moved weakly.

Remy propped his chin on Tattie's shoulder as she shifted him in her arms. She moved him to her hip, holding him in one arm. She then raised her other arm and unlocked the window and pushed it open. Behind her, the man was going into the closet. He was putting his bundle inside even though it was now struggling in earnest. The man quickly stepped back and moved to close the closet door.

Tattie had a bright blue ball of light in her hand. Remy looked at it momentarily, but the light made his eyes water and he quickly looked away with a sneeze. It pulsed twice, then faded. While Remy had been dazzled by the light, something had happened in the hall. The bundle had unwrapped itself and it spilled into the hallway. It was another boy. The man crouched to retrieve the boy, who was trying to scramble away. Remy stared.

The boy looked up at him, his expression angry. Remy felt a jolt of surprise. He was looking at himself, like in a mirror. The boy had red eyes, just like him. The boy saw Remy too. His eyes widened and Remy heard a voice speak loudly in his head: "_M'aidez! Help me!_"

Compelled to obey, Remy squirmed out of Tattie's arms and fell to the floor. He began to crawl towards the boy when Tattie seized him from behind. Remy was raised from the floor and turned toward the window. He wanted to pull free, but he didn't want to strike out at Tattie.

The man had reclaimed the other child and pushed him into the closet. He slammed the door and threw the bolt at the top of the door to lock it. There was a banging sound from the opposite side. Remy was placed onto the windowsill. He clung to Tattie. It was a long drop to the yard below. Why was she sitting him here, in such a dangerous place?

The man had backed away from the closet. He turned to look at where Remy and Tattie were perched on the sill. He nodded at her and began to step backwards, away from the closet. Just then, there was a flash of light from inside the closet. The outline of the door lit up with bright yellow and red light. Remy heard Tattie's gasp of surprise.

"_Pas possible!_" the man at the end of the hall said.

"_M'aidez_!" Remy heard the cry in his head again.

Then there was an explosion and the door to the closet rattled in it's hinges. Suddenly, Remy felt like he was on fire. He shrieked in pain. There were terrible fumes that stung his eyes and scorched his throat, burning ribbons of flame fluttered down from above and stuck to his skin.

"My God have mercy!" Tattie cried. "De chemicals! What have we done?"

Remy felt himself thrust backwards into open space. He was falling through the air. Remy kicked his arms and legs as he fell, imagining the flames that were eating him alive. He came to a sudden hard stop, and heard someone gasp. Someone in the yard below had caught him in their arms. In the window above, he could still see Tattie. She was outlined by the orange glow of flames from the hall beyond. Remy watched as she disappeared from the window, running back into the hall. Remy struggled against the strong grip that held him fast. The boy was still in the closet. He was still burning, Remy could feel it!

"_Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé_?" said a voice. (_What happened?_)

"_Je ne sais pas_," replied the man who held Remy. "_Allons. Vite, vite! Avant que quelqu'un arrive!_" (_I don't know...Let's go. Hurry, before someone comes._)

Remy was borne away from the house, across the dark lawn to the fence that surrounded the property. One of the men vaulted over the fence. Once on the other side, the man held out his arms through the bars of fence. Remy was pushed through. He was small enough to squeeze between the bars. The second man climbed the fence and dropped beside the first man.

He looked into Remy's face. "_Le Diable Blanc_," he whispered. "It looks as though you've escaped de fires of Hell, _mon frere_." Behind them, flames streamed from the house's open window. Remy tried to kick out, to squirm from the man's grip, but it was no use. Remy couldn't hear the voice any longer. The screams had faded away. Remy was not burned at all. Instead, he was very, very cold. His teeth chattered.

"Take my coat," the man said, and draped his long jacket over the boy. "You're safe. The Antiquary won't find you, hidden in plain sight. You're in de Mob now."

"Let's show de others our pinch," the thief who held him said and he shifted Remy's weight in his arms. "Look, Fagan! I've a devil on my shoulder!"

Fagan touched Remy's face. "Dis one's fallen from heaven, make no mistake. Dis boy will deliver us from evil."

* * *

><p><em>Next time: The X-Men travel through time.<em>

Au Claire de la Lune translation: _By the moonlight my friend Pierrot, lend me your pen so I can write a word. My candle is out and I have no flame. Open your door for the love of God!_


	18. Truth

_I've seen a million numbered doors on the horizon  
>Now which is the future you choosin' before you gone dyin'<br>I'll tell you about a secret I've been undermining  
>Every little lie in this world comes from dividing<br>Say you're my lover, say you're my homie  
>Tilt my chin back, slit my throat, take a bath in my blood, get to know me<br>All out of my secrets  
>All my enemies are turning into my teachers<br>Because,  
>Lights blinding, no way dividing what's yours or mine when everything's shining<br>Your darkness is shining...my darkness is shining  
>Have faith in ourselves<br>Truth  
>-Truth, Alexander<em>

The X-Men followed Dr. Strange into a vaulted stone hall. There were two chairs facing one another across the length of the hall, a raised stone dais, and a stone table. Strange strode to the table and crouched beside it.

"Come out," he said to someone under the table.

"Where are we?" Iceman asked.

Strange reached under the table and drew out a small figure. "We are in a place that exists outside of linear time," he told Iceman as he lifted a bundled child in his arms.

Rogue moved forward to see the child. It was wrapped in Gambit's jacket. When the child looked up, Rogue gasped.

"Joanna!" she cried.

Joanna's face was a mess of tears and what appeared to be blackened blood. She clung to Dr. Strange in desperation.

"How the hell did that happen!" Wolverine asked. "Where's Gambit?"

"I will have to explain on the way. We must move quickly. Time moves differently here," Strange replied. He began to walk towards a darkened corridor leading off the hall.

"But Joanna-," Iceman began as they all hurried after Dr. Strange.

"Has been cursed," Strange said.

"Can you undo it?" Rogue asked, looking at the tearful face of the small girl over Strange's shoulder.

"With the right preparations, it can be undone," Strange replied as they paced down the corridor. "But we don't have time for that right now."

Joanna hid her face in Dr. Strange's shoulder with a sob.

"And Gambit?" Wolverine pressed. "I smelled his blood. Where is he?"

"Gambit has been taken," Strange replied. "By a sorcerer known as The Antiquary. We must free Remy before the sorcerer can force him to reveal the powers locked inside his mind."

Iceman faltered several steps. They had come to a fork in the tunnel.

"Who?" Rogue asked.

"The Antiquary," Dr. Strange replied. "He is an exiled member of the Thieves' Guild. Something must have happened to the Guild Master, otherwise he would not have come out of hiding."

It was difficult to read the expression on Iceman's face, but he came to an abrupt halt. "Where did he take Gambit?" he asked.

"Deeper into the tunnels," Dr. Strange pointed down one of the paths. "The further in we go, the faster time will pass in the natural world. Let's continue. It is possible that Gambit has all ready been held here for days...perhaps weeks."

Rogue gasped. "Which way do we go?" she asked.

"Either direction will take us to the same place," Dr. Strange replied. "It is a matter of which will be the shorter path."

Wolverine charged off to the right, bringing himself to the end of the tunnel. There was a door before them. Wolverine pushed it open. The door opened inward, revealing a strange space that seemed in direct contrast to the stone chamber in which they stood. Inside was a modern, futuristic room. The walls which were painted in crisp white were hung with bold modern art. Where there were no bursts of painted color, there were large computer monitors and equipment. The room was lit by the glow of flashing lights. There was a meter reading on one monitor, the number 88% flashed. There was an expanse of polished marble floor. At the center of the floor was an ominous looking chair of polished adamantium. There were shackles hanging from the arms of the chair.

_You asked me why I was here..._said a voice that echoed through the empty chamber. ..._why I couldn't leave_... The voice was raspy and worn from age. There was the hint of a southern accent.

"Remy!" Rogue cried into the empty space.

Dr. Strange moved forward and pulled the door closed. "No, not this way," he said. "To the left, then."

Rogue turned and bolted in the opposite direction and came to a second door. She seized the ring that served as a door handle.

"_Aiee_!" she shrieked, drawing her hand away. "It's blazin' hot!"

Wolverine offered her his hand and she took it, absorbing his healing powers. The pain in her hand vanished.

"Allow me," Iceman said, sliding forward. This door opened towards them, the handle hissed with steam as Iceman pulled.

Flames blasted through the open space and melted half of Iceman's face and torso away. He took a step backward. "Bit toasty," he said after his face had reformed. "But not as hot as Tante Mattie's house."

_God have mercy..! _cried a voice in desperation. _What have we done?_

Beyond the door they could see a corridor alive with flame. Iceman drew on what moisture he could find in the area. It was incredibly dry down here. The other X-Men felt their eyes dry, their tongues grow parched. Suddenly, the fire dispersed with a soft hiss and the corridor was dusted with dry powdery snow. The walls were hung with ruined paintings. There was a painting of a man holding an infant, the bottom of which had been scorched away.

"This is The Antiquary's house!" Iceman cried.

"How do you know that?" Wolverine asked.

"Uhm, er..." Iceman stammered.

"Hurry," Dr. Strange said.

They moved forward. The fire seemed to have started from the shell of an open closet, the contents of which were unrecognizable. At the end of the hall was an open window.

"Through there," Dr. Strange pointed. The dog ran forward and leapt through the open window. Wolverine, Rogue, Iceman, then Dr. Strange followed.

Wolverine peered through the open window. There was nothing beyond but black emptiness. He put one leg through and found his foot touching solid ground on the other side. He slipped through and the others followed suit.

Wolverine accidentally knocked the dog aside in the darkness. His head brushed a low ceiling. Rogue bumped up against Wolverine. The still hot room grew instantly cooler as Iceman appeared. Dr. Strange emerged through the window and held a soft blue light aloft in his fingertips. It lit the small room in which they found themselves. The ceiling sloped sharply. There was a pallet on the floor that Rogue was standing on. A pile of used books were stacked beside the pallet. The ceiling was plastered with newspaper clippings, images clipped from magazines, and photographs that had curled and yellowed in the heat. The floor groaned ominously beneath their combined weight.

Iceman stepped backwards to let Dr. Strange past him. Iceman's head struck a model airplane which had been hanging from a piece of string from the rafters. It fell the the floor and smashed. "Whoops," Iceman said.

Rothko walked over to the pallet and picked up a stuffed dog in its mouth. "Leave it," Wolverine commanded, and the dog dropped the toy with a reproachful look.

Rogue peered over the edge of the loft to the room below. It overlooked a sitting area. "Where are we?" Rogue asked.

"Mattie's house," Logan replied.

Iceman lifted the trap door that led to the steep narrow staircase. "Ladies first," he said. Rogue climbed down. Wolverine gathered the dog in his arms and jumped to the floor below. When Rogue and Iceman reached the floor, Dr. Strange lowered the young Joanna into Rogue's outstretched arms. Joanna made a miserable sound.

Wolverine set the dog down and walked to the front door. He heaved it open.

_Y'all come in now...I've made up some lunch_...said the same voice from the burned hall. It was followed by cries of mock terror from three young boys. _It ain't that bad_... the woman shouted with exasperation.

Again they walked out into the darkness. They soon found themselves in the vaulted chamber again.

"We're back where we started," Wolverine growled.

"No," Strange said. "Same place...different time."

_Until I was older_... a child said..._Then he'd let me out._

Together they ran to the opposite side of the hall, back into the dark tunnel. As they ran, they found that the stone melted away and became plaster. The floors underfoot were carpeted.

"We're at the LeBeau home," Iceman said as the photos of the thieves that lined the corridor flashed past. "Where do we go now?"

Strange led the way down a hall that Iceman and Frenzy had not explored. When they began to follow, Iceman felt someone trip him. He stumbled forward into Rogue.

"Ow!" Rogue said. "Why did you hit me!"

"I didn't!" Iceman said.

"Hurry!" Wolverine said. He whirled round with a growl as an unseen force jabbed him in the side. Dr. Strange was at another door. All the others before it were locked. This one opened.

They spilled into a foyer with a dark polished wood floor. The walls were white. Rogue gasped. "Ah know this house..." she sprinted up the staircase to the room where she and Tante Mattie had once stood vigil over BellaDonna's catatonic body.

_If you think I'm going t'let you plant some demon in her_...a voice threatened.

Rogue threw the bedroom door open and leapt into the darkness.

They now found themselves in an immense hall lined with thick marble columns. The dark windows were tall and hung with expensive drapery. Outside they could see the expanse of Paris skyline, lit for the night. The carpet was soft and plush underfoot. There were decorative urns and statues placed between the columns. Joanna squirmed in Rogue's arms and she put the girl down.

"I know this place," she said, her voice high and clear like the peal of a bell. "This way."

Joanna dashed ahead, hugging the jacket to her. The others gave chase. Joanna ran down the hall and along a side corridor. She came to two paneled doors painted glossy white. She jumped up at the brass handle.

_I want you to fulfill your purpose_... Canrda's voice said. _To do what you were made to do_...

Wolverine moved forward and pushed open the doors. They flew outward. Beyond was a short length of stone tunnel. It ended at a single wooden door with a wrought iron handle.

"We're here," Dr. Strange said. They walked to the door. It was barred. Strange levitated the wooden bar and cast it aside, then put his hand to the iron ring. The door was locked from the inside as well.

Wolverine sprung his claws. Two powerful strikes slashed the wood, first in one direction, then the other. He kicked and the door splintered inward. Wolverine and Rogue pulled aside the wreckage of the door and they entered the room beyond.

It was dark. A banked fire glowed in the fireplace. Shelves full of books and stacks of bound parchment lined the walls. There was a table at the center of the room. A piece of parchment rested on the table, glowing in the dim light. There was blackish red paint smeared across the table and on the floor. There was no sign of Gambit. Dr. Strange and the X-Men entered the room, circled the table.

There was a single line written in ink on the parchment.

"_Je ne suis pas le seul_."

* * *

><p><em>Next time: The answers.<em>

_Translation: I am not alone_


	19. Ghost

_Ghost, ghost  
>I know you live within me<br>Feel as you fly  
>In thunderclouds above the city<br>Into one that I  
>Loved with all that was left within me<br>Until we tore in two  
>Now wings and rings and there's so many<br>Waiting here for you_  
>-Ghost, Neutral Milk Hotel<p>

Remy awoke to find himself alone. He was lying on his back on a hard wooden surface. It was very dark. He lay there waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. There was a very faint blue light. Slowly, he sat upright. He was looking down a long hallway lined with closed doors. At the very end of the hall was a light. There was movement that caused the blueish glow to dance. Remy pulled his legs beneath him and stood, steadying himself with a hand to the wall. He began to walk forward, toward the light.

It seemed as if the light was not growing any closer, no matter how many steps forward he paced. He began to jog, then run. He could now see two figures framed in the glow of blue light. They seemed to be turning away to disappear into the open door.

"Wait!" Remy heard his voice call. "Don't leave!"

The figures paused to look at him. The taller of the two conferred with the smaller, stouter figure. The tall figure nodded, then turned and disappeared into the light.

"No!" Remy shouted, pounding down the hallway. "Stop! Jean-Luc! Father!"

The light was dimming, but the smaller figure still stood waiting in the open door. Remy kept running. He could almost make out her features in the dying light. The door was beginning to close. In his haste, Remy stumbled and fell, sprawling face-first onto the floor.

"Remy," Tante Mattie said, her voice sad. "What did I tell you 'bout runnin' in de house?"

He looked up from the floor, his breath ragged. "Tattie!" he cried. "Don't leave!"

"I have to go, Remy. It's past my time," Tante Mattie said. "I'm an old woman, tired out."

Remy swallowed his tears. "Please...just tell me-_-why_?"

Tante Mattie stood with her head down, hands folded before her. "You know I must go...de dead shouldn't linger so long, its only my powers that have kept me..."

"Tante Mattie, I don't want you to go but-! But, why? Why everything else? De secrets, de scheming..._why_?"

Tante Mattie stood, the soft blue light dancing around her face. She took a slow breath. "Jean-Luc thought it best t'hide de truth...but there we disagreed. I wanted to wait until you were older, so you could understand...a long life leads y'to believe there will always be more time...but then there wasn't."

"I should've been wit' you...I should've been dere-," Remy said.

"Remy...I've been raisin' babies for a good long time now. Babies grow up. Dey fly de nest. They learn t'be free. It's been my joy t'see you fly. What little power I have left will keep me here t'give you your answers."

"There were two babies," she began. "Two prophesies. But you were both so small...and had these two lives all set out for you t'live. It weren't right. It was too much to lay on a child's head. We wanted it undone. T'free you bot' from those futures."

Remy gathered his legs beneath him, kneeling on the carpet a few feet from where Tante Mattie stood.

"Two babies...two terrible futures," she continued. "One t'be a weapon. Th'other a sacrifice. It would've meant an end t'strife, a new beginning...for de Guilds, for everyone. Jean-Luc and I were weak and selfish...we didn't want t'see you used dis way. We couldn't stand de thought of givin' you up."

"What about-what about de other baby?"

Tante Mattie put her hand to her mouth, there were tears in her eyes. "One baby was stronger...one baby was smaller. The first child was fearless, willful, and aloof. He preferred to be alone. He was tithed to Candra. The other was frightened, biddable, and kind. He wanted companionship. And De Antiquary laid claim t'him. We wanted t'give you bot' de chance to live unplotted lives, t'be free to live a life of your own choosing. We thought t'switch your places and undo de prophecies."

"Even as a child, Candra's boy was given to wanderin' and she indulged him in everything. He would go off on his own and no one would pay him any mind. People were either charmed by him or frightened of him. Jean-Luc arranged t'have him taken from Candra. We brought him here. We would take you away and hide you. When Candra came, she would find her boy at De Velvet Ministry. Then De Antiquary would have neither child and would take de blame for de kidnapping."

"Only it didn't work dat way. We didn't know de Benefactress had brought out some of de child's powers so young. Manipulated him with her powers to prepare him for de future as a force of destruction. It was a terrible mistake. He was killed because he had just enough of his powers t'be dangerous, but not enough t'be invincible. I tried t'heal him, but he was too badly burned and de magic...hurt him. He died in my arms," Mattie's face was streaked with tears. "And his future got confused wit' yours. We couldn't stop it. And then both prophecies seemed t'be coming true only it was comin' out all wrong."

Remy's arms hung limply at his sides. For a moment he'd believed he had a brother. For a moment he had hope that he wouldn't be alone. But his brother was long gone, Henri was gone, Jean-Luc was gone, and Tante Mattie was preparing to leave. "Take me wit' you," he told her.

"Not yet, Remy," Tante Mattie told him. "Your time will come but not for a good while."

"I don't want that future," Remy told her. "You said it was coming out wrong."

Her mouth went down at the corners. "Not wrong, then...just different. You carry de burden of two men. You'll have folks t'help you along. Let them help you, let them be there for you. It will be difficult...but it will be worth it. You're not alone."

Tante Mattie began to fade along with the light.

"Tattie! I love you!" he cried after her. He thought he saw her smile. Her hand raised like a benediction.

The door closed and he was left in the darkness. He lay his head down and pressed his forehead to the floor, consumed with a grief that paralyzed him. He felt alone. Everyone had left him. The horrible sensation of fear and despair crept over him like a shadow. He would just let it take him this time. No more fighting to keep the monster of his sickness at bay. Remy wanted it to consume him into incoherence, take him away into madness.

For a long while, Remy lay and listened to his ragged breathing, waiting. It took him a moment to realize there was another sound competing with his grief. A tapping noise coming from behind him. A lock rattled. Slowly, Remy unfolded himself from the floor and looked for the source of the sound. He stood and began walking down the hall, back the way he came. He stopped before a door. The doorknob was turning back and forth. Remy put his hand to it and turned. The door did not open, it was locked. He looked up. There was a deadbolt at the top of the door. Remy slid it open. He looked at the door, waiting for it to open, but whatever was behind it was still now.

He put his hand to the knob and turned. He stepped back as the door swung open. There was a child inside the closet. His skin was smeared black with soot. His hair was dusted white with ash. His eyes were just the same as Remy's own. Remy's younger self wiped his arm across his face, smearing the soot and sending ash falling from his hair. He smiled.

"You found me," he said.

* * *

><p>The X-Men looked around the room. Rothko circled the table, sniffing. There was a curtain on the wall. The dog stood before it and Wolverine moved the fabric aside. The room inside was outfitted as living quarters. There was a bed, a basin, and a wardrobe. A few candles were lit and the room was dim. A circle had been drawn in reddish black paint on the stone floor. Inside the circle seated on a pallet with his legs folded beneath him was a man. He was not a young man, but not so very old either. His long hair was streaked with white. Rogue moved forward and stepped into the circle. There had been a kind of static in the air beyond the circle that suddenly dropped away. The man's eyes were closed, his hands rested on his knees. He sat very straight and still. Rogue wondered if he breathed. She reached out to touch him.<p>

Remy's eyes opened. His eyes focused on her face, then looked into her eyes. His face was lined at the mouth and at the corners of his eyes. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, then he smiled softly and the lines on his face became creases. "You found me," he said.

The other X-Men moved forward into the circle. Dr. Strange hovered just beyond. "Remy LeBeau?" Dr. Strange said, a question in his voice.

Remy's eyes flicked to Dr. Strange. "Hello, Uncle Stephen," he said.

"Where is The Antiquary?" Dr. Strange asked.

Remy raised his arm and pointed to a place over Rogue's shoulder. They turned to look. There was a figure seated on the opposite side of the room in the darkness. His back was propped against the wall. Dr. Strange crouched before the still figure. The Antiquary's arms hung limp at his sides, one leg bent awkwardly under his body, the other stuck out at a right angle. One eye was open. It stared blankly. The other was pierced through with a pen. Red blood had flowed from the wound, and was now dry. Dr. Strange reached out and touched The Antiquary's dead body. When he did, the flesh turned to ash, muscle crumbled, bones disintegrated until the body was nothing but a pile of old cloth and dust. Dr. Strange retrieved the pen from the debris and studied it.

"It's just a pen," Remy said. "I'm better wit' a sword, but it worked in a pinch."

"Gambit..." Iceman said. "Are you...okay?" It seemed a paltry thing to say in light of the circumstances.

"I could use a cigarette," he said. "And maybe a hand up."

"Sorry, Gumbo," Wolverine said, patting his pockets. "I could give you a Slim Jim."

"I'd eat one of Tante's casseroles at dis point," Remy told him. Iceman and Wolverine pulled Remy to his feet. Remy stepped from the circle and walked into the other chamber, his hand on the wall for support.

Rogue and Wolverine looked at one another pensively. Dr. Strange followed Remy into the room. The others trailed behind. Remy walked to the shelf and selected a hard-bound book. He handed it to Dr. Strange.

"Dis is all of it," Remy told him, he turned his head aside and sneezed. He gestured to the other books. "All de secrets of de Old Kingdom."

"You wrote all this?" Dr. Strange paged slowly through the book.

"Hope you can make out my chicken-scratch," Remy replied, touching his wrist to the underside of his nose.

"You would give this to me?" Dr. Strange looked at him. "Can you just give away years' worth of work?"

"Well, it won't do me no good," Remy told him through watering eyes. "I'm terrible allergic t'magic."

* * *

><p><em>Sorry if you were confused by the last few chapters...it will be explained in Part II what exactly happened to The Antiquary and to Gambit while he was held in the stone chamber. Let's just say Gambit was there for a long, long time and had the opportunity to think things through. He was also off his meds...<em>

_If you're curious about the Old Kingdom stuff, you need to go back to the first Gambit ongoing series written by Fabian Nicieza. He writes about Sinister planting the Old Kingdom secrets in Gambit's brain, something to my knowledge was just dropped when the series ended. Dr. Strange and Jean-Luc were also on first name basis in the series, another storyline that was left hanging. _

_Next time: A fais do do, Gambit gets a spanking, and someone gets lucky._ This will be my last update for the next 10 days! __


	20. Hellhole Ratrace

_I'm sick and tired of the way that I feel  
>I'm sick of dreaming and it's never for real<br>I'm all alone with my deep thoughts  
>I'm all alone with my heartache and my good intentions<br>And I don't want to cry my whole life through  
>I want to do some laughing too<br>So come on, come on, come on, come on, laugh with me  
>And I don't want to die without shaking up a leg or two<br>Yeah, I want to do some dancing too  
>So come on, come on, come on, come on, dance with me<em>  
>-Hellhole Ratrace, Girls<p>

Remy was rudely awakened by a shout and the weight of a body dropping onto his legs, pinning him face-down to the mattress.

"One! Two! THREE!" Mercy screamed, punctuating each exclamation with a slap on Remy's backside.

"Aagh!" Remy screamed into the pillow. "Mercy, get off me!"

"Take your swats like a man, Remy!" Mercy cried. "Four! Five! SIX!"

"Mercy, that hurts! Stop it!"

Mercy let out a squeal of surprise that ended in a laugh. Remy looked up from the blankets he had been buried in. Bobby was trying to gingerly lift Mercy's flailing form from the bed. She laughed and kicked her legs, her arms looped around Bobby's neck. "Mercy!" Bobby shouted with exasperation. "You can't _do_ that! He's not-."

Remy sat up and Bobby stared goggle-eyed at him. Bobby set Mercy down onto the floor, but her arms were still around his neck and she was pressed against him, giggling.

"Remy?" Bobby stared.

"What?" Remy asked, pushing his brown hair back from his face.

"See what a good day's rest does for a body! I was _nice_ and let you sleep in late," Mercy said and bounced over to where Remy was now sitting on the edge of the bed. He had the blankets bunched up around his waist. "You look better'n you have for days!" She held Remy's face and kissed him repeatedly. "Look at your hair, it's too long! You look like a girl! Let me get de scissors!" Mercy flounced past Bobby and from the room.

"Only twenty-one more t'go, Remy!" Mercy said as she departed.

"Twenty!" Remy shouted after her.

"And one t'grow on!" Mercy shouted from the hall.

"Gambit, what the heck!" Bobby continued to stare at him.

"She's a pain in my ass," Remy said, standing and rubbing his backside.

"You're-young again!"

"Also naked, do you mind?" Remy walked into the bathroom dragging the sheet behind him.

"What happened?" Bobby asked as the bathroom door closed part way.

"Uncle-uhm, Dr. Strange changed me back," Remy said from the bathroom. "He had t'fix up Joanna an' de balance of time had t'come from somewhere. Yin and Yang or some-such hocus pocus. It's a good thing I thought t'bring my allergy pills. I'd a been a real mess wit' out them." There was a pause as Remy regarded himself in the mirror. "I t'ink he might have gone a bit too far. I thought my laugh lines gave me character. Now I'll be carded every time I want a drink."

"Oh for the love of-!" Bobby exclaimed.

"Looks like I've lost a few pounds too. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me t'keep on weight?" Remy continued. "I can eat and eat and eat...and never gain any weight. I guess I'll have t'go back on my cheeseburger and milkshake diet for awhile."

"That's it!" Bobby declared, kicking open the bathroom door. "Let me hit you! Seven! Eight! Nine!"

"Robert! Your hands are cold!"

* * *

><p>You would never have known that there had been a fire here only two days ago. The land surrounding Tante Mattie's home had been cleared of the broken fencing, the long grass cut low. The wreckage of the house had been cleared away, leaving nothing but the former foundation. It now served as a raised platform in the middle of a clearing. The sun was setting and the lake sparkled gold in the sunlight. Paper lanterns dangled from the trees which swayed slightly in a soft breeze. Here and there were picnic tables. Plastic skulls were centered on each table, lit from within by battery-powered candles. Men clustered in groups around cook fires stirring pots, cooking meat, talking, and drinking beers. Women sat in folding chairs, snapping beans, shucking corn, chatting, and minding the children.<p>

Earlier that day, a shiny new pickup truck had arrived towing a trailer. A large hog was inside. The men had gathered, fed the pig a bucket of beer and then cleanly dispatched it with a round to the skull after reciting:

"_Bless us O Lord, for these, Thy gifts which we are about to receive, from Thy bounty through Christ our Lord...Amen._"

Bobby immediately declared himself a vegetarian. Logan helped the men with the hog, dunking it into hot water, shaving it, hanging it from a nearby tree, draining it of blood, and cleaning it. The men were impressed with Logan's skill and glad to have the help. The carcass was butchered and parts disseminated between the family members, who returned to their fires or grills to prepare the meat in their own way.

Several teenagers milled about, looking somewhat confused and directionless. Remy had told Rogue that they had been taken from a place called The Pen where they had been trained as mercenaries. They were good at following directions, but were at a loss when left to their own devices. Rogue gathered them in a circle around her.

"You take this," she told an enormous blond teenager, handing him a stake with a blue handkerchief tied to the end. He stood head and shoulders over the rest of the teens. He had a thick German accent.

"And you take this," she told a young woman handing her a stake with a red handkerchief. She was the only female among them and even at ease, her face was hard, her jaw set. When Rogue had called for two volunteers for team leaders the girl had angled herself between the boys, pushing her way to the front.

"Now you'll each take your flags and stake them somewhere," Rogue told them.

"Var shut ve put them?" the German boy asked.

"Somewhere where they're visible, not easy, but not impossible to get to," Rogue told him. "Use your imagination."

He stared at her blankly. "Like...in a tree?" he finally asked.

"You'll figure it out," Rogue told him. "Now you're gonna have t'have some on your team stay and guard the flag, while the others go to retrieve the other team's flag. Whichever team brings the other team's flag back to this point will be the winner."

"So...zees is whar," said the girl. Her accent was pure Parisian french.

"Not war," Rogue told her. "A friendly competition. Now mind you don't fall inta any holes out there." The yard had been cordoned off with empty milk jugs with candles inside to warn people of potential dangers. "And keep an eye out for snakes and such."

"Ve vill look after von anot'er," the boy said.

"Good plan," Rogue told him. "Now...on your marks...get set...GO!"

Each team leader gave a voiceless signal to their teammates and they melted away into the surrounding landscape in silence. "Remember!" Rogue shouted after them. "Friendly! If anyone hurts anyone else, you'll be disqualified!" She didn't know if they'd heard her or not, they'd all vanished.

Remy's cousin Emil had arrived with his girls trailing behind him. He joined Joanna and Bobby where they stood at a picnic table laden with covered dishes. Zoe stood with them, listening to Bobby talk about The Jean Grey School. When Rogue approached, the smallest child held out her arms begging to be picked up.

"Which one is this?" Rogue asked, picking up the baby.

"Charity," Emil responded. "'_So faith, hope, and charity abide, these three. But the greatest of __these is charity_.'"

"Ah thought it was 'love'?" Rogue asked.

"Same thing. Y'give somethin' away without expectin' anything in return," Emil said. "Dese others are Claire, Colette, Celeste, and Cecille."

"You're going to run out of C-names," Joanna said.

"Where is Marie-Therese?" Zoe asked.

"Bed rest, doctor's orders," Emil pronounced. "Which means I'm free to act as stupid as I like!'

Zoe gave him a look. "So soon?" she asked. "Mercy said she was...'_big as a house_.'"

"A villa in Spain, more like," Emil said, using his arms to demonstrate. "But I suppose dat's 'cause she's eatin' for three!"

"Twins!" Joanna goggled.

"_Ah, oui_! Blessings from heaven!" Emil declared, then folded his hands and held them up to the sky. "And please, sweet God have mercy, let dem be boys!"

The girls giggled. "Don't you love us girls, Poppa?" the eldest asked.

"Sure, and I'll love you even more once you're married off and makin' some other poor man crazy!" Emil told her.

"Ugh," Bobby said, rolling his eyes.

Mercy's car was pulling up the rutted path. She parked it amidst the other vehicles. Mercy leapt from the car and was followed by BellaDonna, who was in the backseat. They walked around to the opposite side of the vehicle and removed the passenger from his seat. Together they walked Remy out into the path. He was blindfolded, and the two women steered him by his shoulders.

"Now I'm carsick...Where are we?" Remy asked.

Belle reached up and untied the blindfold. "Surprise!" she said.

"It's not a firing squad!" Remy said, delighted.

Remy looked around with a bemused expression on his face. He took in the lanterns and lights, the picnic tables and the food, the guests at their fires. When he looked in their direction, Rogue waved from her place at the picnic table. He grinned.

Turning to Mercy, he asked: "Did you do all dis?"

"Well, I had help," Mercy told him. "Pierce got de city t'come out here and clean up de mess, then got permission from de owners and what all. He was glad for somethin' to do. I t'ink he's been bored since you've been gone. No disasters t'clean up."

Remy hugged his sister-in-law. "Mercy, you're de best. I love you!"

"It was _my_ idea," Belle grumbled.

Remy turned to Belle and kissed her cheek. "Thank you, Belle. _ Je t'adore_!"

Rogue looked away and bounced Charity on her hip. The little girl was petting Rogue's ponytail, a studious expression on her face.

The arrivals joined them at the picnic table. Emil was unwrapping a lollipop he'd pulled from his pocket. The baby released Rogue's ponytail and reached for the candy beseechingly.

"No sugar for you, _ma petite_...you're sweet enough as it is!" he told the child.

"Are you literally taking candy from a baby?" Bobby asked him.

Remy took the candy from Emil's hand and stuck it in his own mouth.

"Hey!" Emil said, indignant. "Dat was mine!"

Remy removed the sucker from his mouth. "You owe me for stealin' my last smoke," Remy replied. Emil leapt at Remy, arm reaching to reclaim the sucker.

"Give it back!" Emil cried as Remy held the candy out of reach over his head.

"It's all ready got my cooties!" Remy declared. They continued to wrestle. Emil was climbing up Remy's back.

Bobby reached out and snatched the candy from Remy's hand. He handed it to the little girl.

"Can't de pair of you act like adults...at least in front of de young ones?" Mercy asked.

They regarded her, Emil was still clinging to Remy like a monkey. "Enjoying de view, short-stack?" Remy asked his cousin.

Emil looked around from Remy's shoulder. "It's just as I suspected..." he said despairingly. "Everyt'ing does look better from up here." Remy dumped his cousin off his back.

"Me next, Cousin!" the eldest girl said. Remy grabbed the girl around the waist and sat her on his shoulders. She shrilled excitedly. "Giddy-up!" She cried and Remy dashed off with the laughing girl.

"Okay, de rest of you go off and play wit' fire," Emil said, picking up a box of sparklers from the picnic table. He passed them out to the three remaining girls and removed a lighter from his pocket. "Go poke your eyes out!" He lit the ends of the sparklers which flared with bright white light.

"'Cause remember what Nick Fury always says kids," Bobby said authoritatively. "'_Eye-__patches look cool_'!" The girls ran off in a flurry of giggles while drawing spirals in the air with their sparklers.

Emil laughed as Remy trotted back with his eldest daughter. "Enh, Remy!" Emil called. "Dis one is pretty funny!" He threw his arm over Bobby's shoulders. "What say you and I make him one of us? They'll be three of us, just like old times!"

"Good Lord, no. Not De Odds again," Mercy said, crossing her arms.

"No one beats De Odds!" Remy and Emil said in unison.

"Dorks," Bobby said.

"He does make a pretty good diversion," Remy told Emil.

"I told you, I want to be the lookout next time," Bobby said.

Holding Remy's hands, Claire expertly flipped from his shoulders to land on her feet before her father. "Poppa, give me!" she demanded, holding her hand out for a sparkler.

"Now, Claire. What do we say?" Emil tested her.

"_Bouche ferme_..._oreilles ouverts_," she recited.

"And what else?" Emil suggested.

"'De keys to de Kingdom won't be held by idle hands,'" she said impatiently, opening and closing her hand.

"Dat's not de answer I was lookin' for," Emil told her.

"Okay...'_De Saints are goin' to de playoffs dis year, I know it_'!" she cried. "Go Saints!"

Emil sighed and handed her a sparkler. "I swear dese kids don't pay attention to a word I say."

Claire ran off with her sparkler to join her sisters. They now had two in each hand. As the sunlight had faded from the sky, some of the boys had gathered behind the house and were shooting fireworks off over the lake. The fireworks whistled and popped over the water.

There was another group of children who were tinkering with a generator. They'd been at it for hours, trying to get it to work. It suddenly rumbled to life. Strings of lights flickered on and the boys cheered their victory. Another group of kids were gathered on the platform where Tante Mattie's kitchen once stood. They held musical instruments and were plugging in amplifiers and microphones. One boy had an accordion. There was also a guitarist, a base guitarist, a banjo player, a pair of horn players, a keyboardist, and a boy with a ridged piece of metal which hung over his chest like a plate of armor. Zoe's brother Shirow had a fiddle. They were creating a cacophony as they tuned and practiced their instruments while Alice adjusted the soundboard.

"Do these kids know any music from at least this century?" Bobby asked Mercy.

"Oh, sure," Mercy told him. "They can listen and play whatever they like...so long as dere's no swearin'...references t'drug use...or-."

The band suddenly started up a tune. "_Mama's got a squeeze box...she wears on her chest. And when Daddy comes home...He never gets no rest..._"

"Oh, God," Mercy said, looking at the band with a dawning look of horror.

"Mebbe they don't know what they're singin' 'bout," Emil said.

"'_Cause she's playing all night...And the music's all right...Mama's got a squeeze box...Daddy never sleeps at night!_"

Remy laughed.

"_She goes in and out and in and out_..."

"Dis is gonna stop!" Mercy said as she began to make her way to the stage.

Remy grabbed her and pulled her close. "Don't be such a prude, Mercy!"

Logan joined their picnic table as Emil dashed up onto the platform. The song drew to an end and he took the microphone from Alice.

"Well, dat was...fantastic!" Emil said, his voice amplified by the microphone. "Can y'all give me some background music...? I'd like t'say a few words."

"Only a few?" heckled a voice from one of the cook fires. "That'll be de day!"

"You ain't de funny one, Claude!" Emil said. "Now as I was sayin', dere's some people here I'd like t'thank. Let's get dis started, shall we?"

The band was playing a low beat in the background. "First of all, I'd like t'recognize someone who puts us all in our places...and for once, a Potier can be said t'be an upstandin' member of society, unlike Claude. I'd like t'say thank you to de Father, Son, and Holy Ghost-est with de Most-est..._Father Joseph Potier_...!" The trumpeter trilled his horn. Emil pointed and several teens with flashlights set their beams on the priest, who gave a bow. "Very nice sermon, Father Joe!" Emil said. "Not as boring as your usual ones!"

The gathered celebrants applauded and whistled. "Go Joe!" someone cried.

"Next I'd like t'thank de person who helped pull all de strings t'bring dis here party together. You know him as De Voice of our little nation...I know him as De Blabbermouth...let's give it up for _Mis'seu Pierce_!" Emil pointed and the flashlight beams bobbed and weaved into the shadows. A blast came from the saxophone. Pierce stood stoically, his arms folded. "Pierce, what _is_ your given name, anyhow?" Emil asked. Pierce said something. "What? Can't hear you...how ironic!"

"Emil, get down!" someone shouted.

"I ain't finished yet!" Emil responded. "I want t'call t'your attention a wonderful woman who does it all wit'out breakin' a sweat. Not only is she our number one rankin' earner in de Guild, she can out-butter Paula Deen any day of de week. It's Martha Stewart's own former cell-mate...you'll be beggin' and pleadin' for _Mercy LeBeau_!"

Mercy performed a curtsey as people clapped and cheered. Both horns sounded.

"And to our newcomers...! Lemme introduce y'all to our guests...de saviors in spandex...savin' our bacon on more dan one occasion...let's give a warm welcome to _de X-Men_!"

"Whooo!" several of the children shouted and the saxophonist played an elaborate string of notes. Bobby waved both arms and Rogue waved half-heartedly. Joanna hid her face with her hand and Logan stood with his eyes closed as the kids shown their flashlights on the group.

"And last but not least-," Emil began.

"Emil, for de love of God, _shut up_!"

"-Let's all put our hands and hearts together for de man of de hour...the one who ain't afraid t'get his hands dirty takin' out de trash...my own dear Cousin and brother-at-arms..."

Remy was seated and sinking lower into his chair, a look of mortification on his face.

"He's de devil lookin' over your shoulder: _Remy Michel LeBeau_! Happy Birthday!"

Remy groaned and hid his face in his hands. "Let de earth open up and swallow me now..." The entire band broke into tune.

"Michelle...?" Bobby asked, his grin wide.

"It's Michael! _Michael_!" Remy snapped. "When will dis torment end?"

Alice wrestled the microphone away from Emil. "Hey!" he said and she shoved him off the platform. He fell to the ground with a thud and shouted from the darkness: "Respect your elders!" People applauded.

"Now, let's get back to the party," Alice said. "As we say here: _Laissez les bons temps rouler_!"

Belle stepped forward and put her hand to Remy's shoulder. "I think you owe me a turn on de dance floor," she told him.

"You sure you want t'be seen wit' me at dis point?" Remy looked up at her.

"We never did have our first dance t'gether," she said.

"I suppose you're right..."

The group watched as Belle took Remy up onto the platform. Other couples broke off from their groups to join them.

"_The time has come...for closing books and long last looks must end... And as I leave...I know that I am leaving my best friend_..," Alice sang.

"There now, ain't that nice," Mercy said, taking Bobby's arm. "It's just as it should be."

Bobby regarded her. "I think Remy's past the point where he needs a matchmaker," he told her.

"Maybe I should take my own pick too," Mercy said with a wave of her hand. "How 'bout you take me for a spin? On de dance floor. We got no tolerance for wallflowers 'round here."

"_A friend who taught me right from wrong...and weak from strong. That's a lot to learn... What, what can I give you in return_...?"

Bobby let himself be taken to the dance floor. Emil reappeared, dangling from the tree above them, grass in his red hair. "You heard Mercy, _ma doucette_," he told Joanna. "You want t'cut yourself a slice of rug?"

Joanna made a face. "I need a drink first," she strode off to one of many buckets full of ice and bottled drinks. Emil dropped from the tree and trotted after her.

Rogue moved herself closer to Logan. They looked at one another.

"You got a sucker in yer hair," Logan told her.

"_If you wanted the moon I would try to make a start but I-I-I... would rather you let me give my heart...To Sir, with love_..."

Rogue sat with the baby and began to detangle the candy from her ponytail. "What do you suppose bein' locked in a room for years on end does to a person, Logan?" she asked.

"_Those awkward years have hurried by, why did they fly away? Why is it Sir, children grow up to be people one day? What takes the place of climbing trees and dirty knees in the world outside_?"

Logan watched the dancers on the platform. Remy had one arm around Belle, held her hand in his other hand. She rested her head on his chest, looking at nothing at all. Remy was looking at the lights, watching the other dancers.

"_If you wanted the sky, I would write upon the sky with letters that would soar a thousand feet high...To Sir, with looooove_..."

"We can think about that later," Logan said. "You want to dance?"

Rogue smiled up at him. "Sure, sugah," she looked around. Zoe was watching her brother play, a faint smile on her face. "You mind, Zoe?" she said, gesturing to the child.

Zoe took the child awkwardly. "The thing to do would be to give her more sugar and then leave her to her father," Zoe said. "I believe there is some pie on one of these tables." She walked off carrying the baby.

By now the band was playing a more sprightly tune. Remy was cajoling Joanna into a dance. "You have to..." he said. "It's my birthday. You have t'do as I say!"

"All right, fine!" Joanna said.

"And you have t'let me lead!" Remy told her.

"Fat chance, stick-boy!" she bent and tossed Remy over her shoulder.

"Aagh!" he cried as she stomped up the steps to the dance floor. People moved aside laughing as Remy's legs flailed.

"Twenty-five!" Joanna shouted, slapping Remy's backside. "Twenty-six! Twenty-seven!"

"Aah! Ow! OW!" People were cheering.

"You used to like being spanked," Joanna observed as she set Remy down on his feet. He winced.

"Joanna! Over-sharing!" Bobby declared.

* * *

><p>Bobby was kissing Mercy and she was kissing him back. They were in the front passenger seat of her car with the seat reclined. She was straddling his waist. The windows were fogged with condensation. Her tongue was in his mouth. It tasted like wine.<p>

"Mm," she said against his mouth. She sat back and unbuttoned his shirt, ran her hands up his stomach and over his chest. "Do you always feel so cold?" she asked.

"Uhm...yes, kind of. Sorry," he said as she leaned over to kiss him again.

"Y'don't have t'apologize," she said into his ear. "I like it. It's like makin' out with a marble statue of a god." She licked his neck behind his ear.

"Oh...well...that's-very nice," he mumbled as her teeth nibbled his earlobe.

Mercy sat up again and pulled her shirt over her head. "You're very nice," she said to him as she reached behind her back and unfastened her bra. "And generous...compassionate..." she slipped the straps down from her shoulders. She leaned forward and kissed his chest over his heart.

Bobby put his hands on her shoulders and held her back to look at her. "You're very, very beautiful," he told her earnestly. She placed her hands over his and moved them lower, shivering at his cool touch.

"Mmm..." she said and lowered herself onto him. "Charming too..." She kissed him on the mouth. His hand slid into her long blond hair, cupping the back of her head, the other slid down her bare back. Her hands moved down his torso. "Sweet-natured...funny..." she whispered.

"You think I'm funny?" he asked, then sucked in a breath. "Oah...!"

"Well, a little weird, but..."

"Oh...my...God..." Bobby said. There was nothing but the sound of their breathing and muffled happy sounds, loud in the confined space of the car.

"C'mere, Ice_man_..." she said. "I've got a fire for you t'put out..."

"Mm..,muh...Guhd!" Bobby said, his face pressed between her breasts as she settled down onto his lap.

"_Dieu_!" Mercy cried, her head thrown back. "Ah! _ Oui, oui, oui_!"

Bobby was pretty sure he knew what she was saying. She was laying pressed against him. She was warm and soft. He put his arms around her and she shivered with pleasure. "That was fun," she said.

Later they were climbing out of the vehicle, straightening their clothes. "Uhm..." Bobby began awkwardly.

"We should probably go back to de party," she said. Her face was flushed, her eyes dark. Her lips were full and red, even though she was no longer wearing lipstick. She smiled wickedly at him.

"Yes...good idea," Bobby trailed after her.

"All dis partyin' has made me work up an appetite!" Mercy exclaimed, her arms wide as they rejoined the others. "Let's eat!" she declared.

Someone began to ring a triangle bell with a spoon. "C'mon kids! Time t'eat!"

Remy and Joanna were seated at the picnic table. Logan was returning from the dance floor with Zoe and Shirow and Alice. Alice was holding Shirow's hand. Rogue was twirling a stake with a blue bandana tied to it, pointedly not looking at BellaDonna.

"Where'd you get off to?" Joanna asked Bobby.

"Uhm...Mercy was just-teaching me how to drive stick-shift," he stammered, trying not to look at Remy.

"Yeah...I'll bet she was..." Joanna snarked.

"You got lipstick on yer neck," Logan observed. Bobby turned red.

"Okay everybody!" Mercy announced as she returned with a covered cake plate. She set it down in front of Remy and removed the glass dome. A pretty white iced cake sat on top.

"Emil! Candles!" BellaDonna commanded.

"Enh, look, Remy! Chocolate cake, white icing. Your favorite!" Mercy said.

"It's almost too pretty t'eat," Remy told her. "Y'outdid yourself as usual, Mercy."

"I was de one who remembered your favorite," Belle groused.

Emil was sticking candles into the cake and lighting them. "We'll have t'have de fire department out here again."

"Shut up, you. We're de same age!" Remy told him.

"Let's sing!" Mercy said. They all sang _Happy Birthday_ and Remy looked mildly embarrassed.

"_Happy biiiirthday dear Remy Micheeeehlle_!" Bobby sang and had to crouch before the back of Remy's hand could swat him the groin. "Uhmph!" he said.

"Blow out de candles, quick! B'fore de cake catches ablaze!" Emil cried.

"Don't forget t'make a wish!" Rogue said.

"No copping out wit' stupid wishes for world peace either!" Mercy said. "Ask for something selfish!"

"I wish y'all would leave me alone!" Remy said.

"Ha, ha, dummy," Joanna said. "Now your wish won't come true."

Remy blew out his candles. "I know," he said.

* * *

><p><em>Next time: The End of Part I where I reveal one major revelation. Aren't you excited? It's the brown paper package all tied up with string...<em>


	21. My Better Self

_My better self still knows  
>That meaning comes and goes<em>_  
>What is it made?<br>I do not know  
>But meaning comes and it goes<br>If I don't use words  
>Then each sound goes unheard<br>Utterly senseless without nouns and verbs  
>But symbols suggest they are fit to possess<br>A purposely function  
>That cannot be met<em>  
>-My Better Self, Tennis<p>

Rogue knocked on the door to Remy's room and received no answer. She pushed open the door. "Remy?" she asked, peering around the room. She could hear the shower running in the adjacent bathroom. She walked over to the bathroom door. "Remy?" she called louder.

"_Un moment_!" he called back.

"We're gonna be late!" she said. They had a flight to catch to take them back to New York. The X-Men had stayed in New Orleans for the remainder of the week. There had been a small service read at the church for Jean-Luc and his remains had been interred in the LeBeau family crypt. Remy and Mercy were the only two in attendance. Later, Bobby had helped Remy with bills and paperwork for the funerals, then helped him set up a fund for the people injured in the unsolved explosion at the funeral home. Remy had it set up in Pollard's name and had donated a large sum himself. Rogue and Remy had remained behind when the other X-Men had departed hours ago. Joanna claimed the front seat and Bobby complained loudly about being stuck in the back with the dog.

"Hurry up!" Rogue said, tapping on the door. He probably had been standing under the hot water for ages.

She looked around the room. His clothes and belongings were still strewn over the bed and across the desk. They'd never leave at this point. Rogue sighed and began gathering his clothes and folding them neatly. She tucked the piles of clothes into his bag. His suit was in the closet. She took it down from the hanger and put it into his garment bag. Rogue went to the desk and wound his cell phone charger around her hand and tucked it into a pocket in his carry-on bag. The pill bottles she tucked inside as well. There was a file, two books, and a package on the desk. She sandwiched the file between the two books so it wouldn't be bent and sat it on top of the items in his carry-on. She picked up the package and studied it. It wasn't going to fit in the carry-on with the other things.

She walked back to the bag on his bed and went to unzip it. The zipper stuck. She moved to set the package on the bed when it shifted inside the brown wrapper. The twine around the center snapped and the package tore free of the wrapping. It hit the floor with a thud. She looked at the torn brown paper in her hands. The twine had rubbed away the paper in the middle as well as the name that had been written there. All that was left was the first and last letters of a name that started with R and ended with L.

She crouched to gather the package, which turned out to be another book. Rogue reached to touch the book but snatched her hand back with a gasp. She recognized the binding; brown leather with intricate scrollwork embossed in the cover with gold clasp holding it closed. Like a diary. The clasp had broken. Several of the pages were knocked loose. Her heart was pounding. She reached out and picked up the book, then rose slowly to her feet. A few pages scattered to the floor, one of which skidded a few feet towards the bathroom door. Remy was standing in the open doorway wearing jeans and a shirt that clung to him damply. He looked at the paper at his feet.

"Remy..." Rogue began, "Ah didn't mean to-."

He crouched and picked up the page. Careful not to look at it, he passed it to her. "Read it," he said quietly.

Rogue took the page and set it on top of the book, smoothed it flat with her hand. The handwriting was as recognizable as her own. She blinked rapidly to focus on the words. It was a letter, the prologue to the book she held in her hands. The author had written so plainly. There were no riddles, no puzzles to figure out. So unlike the other diaries.

_Dear Rafael, _

_ I don't expect forgiveness. I only hope that I can find the words that would help explain what I've done. I think of you often. I am not so far away. I could not bear to put so much distance between us, though I know my proximity increases the risk of your being discovered by people who would see you destroyed. I have asked Jean-Luc to keep this diary, that he might share the truth with you and your brother on the day you pair are reunited._

_ I did what was in my power to protect you. I was an unwilling participant in a terrible experiment. In order for you to have been born, I was to serve as a surrogate. But as you grew within me, I had a powerful vision of your future. And that there would be not one, but two babies. I knew you were destined for greatness, but at what cost? The loss of your innocence. A life lived freely. It grieves me to have sent you to this fate. But the alternative was too terrible. Please believe me. I stole away with you inside me, and took you to a place where I knew you would not be discovered. __I gave you one the one thing I could-life. And then I turned you and your brother over to Jean-Luc, accepted payment, and purchased a home where I could be near for when the day you and your brother would come to find me. I long for the day we meet face to face, so that I could tell you what you mean to me. There are times I fear that day will never come. _

_Know that you are loved. And it is a consolation to me that I have Seen you will know great love. _

Rogue's eyes blurred with tears.

_ You are in my heart my son. -Irene._

"Rogue?" Remy asked. "Anna?"

Rogue looked up from the letter. "Where did you get this?" she asked, holding out the diary.

Remy looked at her. "Tante Mattie had it," he replied, "in her house."

The corners of Rogue's mouth trembled. "Why would Tante Mattie have this?"

"It belonged to de Guild," Remy told her. "It was half of the prophecy given...about our old ways, or so we were told."

"Who is Rafael?" she asked finally.

Remy bent again and picked up the remaining pages. "The answer's in the book," he told her and handed the loose pages to her. She turned the loose pages so they lined up with the book, straightened their edges and turned them right-side up. There was a drawing of a man with red eyes. He was embracing a woman with a white streak in her auburn hair. Together the pair were looking down at their clasped hands. In their arms were two small children, twins with their father's eyes and mother's hair.

"What does this mean?" she breathed out as tears rolled down her cheeks.

"It's lost all meaning," Remy said. "Now it's only the story of a life that was never lived."

* * *

><p>End of Part I<p>

_Some notes: There's two parts to this story, much like the two parts to Gambit's mood disorder, and two brothers who have opposite personalities._

_It's pronounced Rāfāʾēl, **not** like the Renaissance artist. If you want to get a clue as to why his name is Rafael, you could Google it. And note that Remy's middle name is Michael. The two go together._

_Still a bunch of unanswered questions...don't worry, I will explain everything. It'll just take awhile._

_Here's some things that influenced me:_

_Heartland – Claire Danes portrayal of a woman suffering from bi-polar disorder is really fascinating. She too suffers from a love/hate obsession with the object of her investigation as a CIA agent. I recommend watching it. Remy doesn't have the same disorder, but that I'll explain later._

_Harry Potter – Stole the idea of wizards living in a world of Muggles...with their own school and traditions. Which is why Gambit is such a snazzy dresser. Remember the horrible brown suit he wore to Jean and Scott's wedding? Poor guy just doesn't know any better. Gambit doesn't like the Harry Potter books though, he couldn't get past the part where Harry is locked in the cupboard under the stairs. _

_What's next? Infectious mania, flashbacks, drunken arguments, friendly wagers, magic spells, karaoke, baseball, romance, and the EEEVIL within!_

_I'm going to accept that you are all perfectly content with the direction this story is going. I am SO looking forward to the next chapter because it was super fun to write. Poor Wolverine..._

_Edit: Please excuse my "ROMY" teaser! Nothing in my story is as it seems...  
><em>


	22. Returning to the Fold

_I regret leaving my mind  
>I forgot I needed it, to think<br>And maybe to keep me alive  
>Can't believe I got so far with a head so empty<br>I regret leaving it all  
>I forgot I needed God like a big brother<br>And maybe when I die, yeah when I die  
>I will die escaping<br>I will die returning to the fold_  
>-Returning to the Fold, The Thermals<p>

Gambit's first day back at The Jean Grey School for Higher Learning was an eventful one, even though he'd specifically been instructed by several people to "take it easy." Gambit was tired of taking it easy. He'd been held captive in a cell for countless days doing little else other than writing and thinking. When he returned to New York, he had been sequestered in his apartment by his teammate Robert Iceman Drake, who had forced him to watch an endless stream of movies and hours of television from the last thirty years. Iceman also insisted that Gambit have a Twitter and Facebook account. Gambit had two Facebook friends, some guy named Tom and Iceman himself. Gambit's virtual life was looking pretty pathetic, and he was ready to rejoin the real world.

Now he was back at the school being held captive in the Headmasters' office. Wolverine and Shadowcat were lecturing him. Something about being on "probationary status." Gambit wasn't sure what the implications were but since Frenzy was getting the same lecture, he was reassured that he wasn't being singled out.

"So just keep your noses clean and there won't be any problems," Wolverine concluded. "Because if _you_ have a problem, _I'm_ going to have a problem. And you don't want to give me any problems, because then your real problem is _gonna be me_. Do we have an understandin'?"

Frenzy scowled. Gambit grinned. They both nodded their heads. Yes, understood perfectly.

"All righty," Shadowcat said cheerfully. "Off you go then! Welcome back!"

Gambit and Frenzy jostled one another out the door and into the hallway. Gambit tried to swallow a laugh and it came out as a series of coughs. He smothered them in the sleeve of his jacket.

"What is so freakin' funny?" Frenzy demanded. "You just got told off by Wolverine. Like you're some dumb kid!"

"Correction-_we_ got told off," Gambit replied. "And I can't help it. First day of school! Whooo!" He jumped up and tapped a light fixture, sending it rocking back and forth as they walked down the hallway.

"You need to lay off all that candy you've been eating," Frenzy said, unable to resist smiling at him as he walked backwards down the hall. "I think you're overstimulated."

"A staff meeting'll fix dat right up!" Gambit replied as he slammed himself through the door to the teacher's lounge. He exclaimed: "Look! New chairs!"

There was a large oval table in the center of the room surrounded by wheeled office chairs. The room was unoccupied. Gambit hopped into one of the chairs and spun himself in a circle.

"I think the Bamfs stole the wheels off the old ones," Frenzy said. "But new chairs are hardly a reason to get excited."

"These roll better than de old ones!" Gambit said, crab-walking his way over to where Frenzy was standing.

She grabbed his forearms and pinned them to the arms of the chair. "Am I going to have to tie you down?" she asked.

"You never could tie a decent knot," he told her.

"I must have missed that scout meeting," Frenzy told him.

"You were in scouts?" Gambit asked.

"It was a very militant branch," Frenzy deadpanned.

"Can you hook me up wit' some cookies?" Gambit pleaded.

"You don't need any more sugar!"

"Well, if no cookies...do you still have de uniform?" he asked hopefully, raising his eyebrows.

She sent him spinning across the room.

"Where is everyone?" Frenzy asked.

"We must be early," Gambit said, bouncing off the wall. "This has never happened t'me before, I swear! I never come first!"

Frenzy sat in a chair and rocked back and forth in it. "Go ahead, keep it up. Rogue'll have you thrown out of here so fast, your head will spin."

Remy was slouched down in his chair, legs akimbo. "Then you'll have to debrief me later..." he said suggestively.

Frenzy stretched out a leg and nudged his knee with her foot. "You're all talk," Frenzy said. "No action. You could've gotten your debriefing last night, if you hadn't decided to become a gentleman all of a sudden."

"Oh, but _ma doucette_, you were so _suggestible_, I could hardly take advantage!" he said, his hand over his heart. "And you seemed so satisfied with de sweet nothings I whispered in your ear..."

Frenzy's face turned a little pink. "That mouth of yours is going to get you into serious trouble."

"It's de most fun you can have wit' your clothes still on," Gambit replied. "And if you keep an _open mind,_ it could easily happen again."

"Why, so you can chicken out? What is it? Did you take Exodus' advice and assume a vow of celibacy? Did Rogue forget to take off your chastity belt?" Frenzy said, refusing to look him in the eye.

Gambit laughed and spun himself so that he crashed his chair into Frenzy's. "Maybe I'm intimidated?" he said, looking over his shoulder at her. "I've always been de one doin' de chasin'! Never had a woman come after me b'fore." He turned and wheeled away around the curve of the table.

"Come back here, coward!" she called and began wheeling after him.

He was laughing, pulling himself along by the edge of the table with Frenzy just behind him when Iceman entered the lounge. "What are you two doing?" he asked.

"Test driving de new chairs!" Gambit told him as Frenzy crashed into him.

By the time Rogue appeared with her clipboard and lesson plans, Iceman and Frenzy were rounding the end of the table, neck and neck for first place. Cannonball had crashed himself and his chair into a cubicle. Marvel Girl was using her telepathy to haul both Husk and Gambit behind her. Marvel Girl held Husk's ankles and Husk held Gambit's to form a train. The girls were pumping their arms and singing out: "_People all over the world...Join hands_..._Start a love train...Love train!_" Gambit waved at Rogue as they trundled past.

Things progressed in much the same vein for the rest of the day. Before second period, Julian Keller, also known as Hellion, had opened his locker to find he had been pranked. After opening the door, a stream of white ping pong balls cascaded out, bouncing everywhere. Each one had a little black pupil drawn on it to make it look like an eyeball. There was a single ping pong ball hanging from a string inside his locker. This one was black with a red pupil with a paper note stuck to it reading: _I've got my I on U! p.s. stole your smokes!_ No one could say how Gambit had found the time to draw pupils on all those ping pong balls, or how he'd managed to get them all into Hellion's locker. The school custodian, Toad, complained loudly about having to clean up after the prank. It was nearly impossible to retrieve all those ping pong balls and the playful Bamfs weren't making things any easier. Ping pong eyeballs turned up in the cafeteria's soup of the day.

Gambit was sitting next to Iceman at the cafeteria table. Both men were facing Warbird, the Shi'ar bodyguard in charge of either protecting the young Kid Gladiator, or protecting everyone else _from_ Kid Gladiator. Gambit was chewing on a straw and looking thoughtfully at Warbird.

"Terran," Warbird said, "as I have heard your kind say: _My eyes are up here_."

"I have a question for you, Birdie. If your race evolved from birds, why do you have those?" Gambit asked, pointing with his straw. "Must've made it kinda awkward t'fly and all."

Every teenaged boy in the cafeteria turned their heads around so fast that several of them got whiplash. Iceman made a strangled sound and slid off his chair and under the table. Gambit continued to stare with a perplexed look on his face. He picked up a hardboiled egg from his lunch tray and stuffed the entirety of it into his mouth.

Warbird slowly stood, drew her sword from its scabbard, and chopped Gambit's lunch tray in two.

After a moment he said with his mouth full: "Oh, sorry. Prolly shouldn't have eaten that in front of you."

It was during sixth period that any semblance of control was completely lost when Rogue, the last holdout, finally gave in. They were in the anti-gravity chamber which was just getting warmed up. Rogue, Iceman, Gambit, and Marvel Girl slowly began to rise weightless into the air along with their classroom of students.

"Okay, y'all, listen up..." Rogue began.

"_Night of the Living Dead _is more than just a horror movie!" Iceman said to Gambit quietly. "It's social commentary. You _have_ to watch it!"

"No!" Gambit hissed back a reply. "No zombie movies!"

"Quire!" Rogue shouted at one of the students. "Put away that cell phone this instant!"

"C'mon! What, are you scared? Don't worry; we can leave the lights on!" Iceman continued.

"No zombie anything, lights on or off!"

"C'mon Quent, let me see it!" Rockslide was saying.

"Not even...dancing zombies?" Iceman was miming the backstroke in midair.

"Zombies don't dance, Robert!" Gambit was upside down, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Leave off! You'll break it!" Kid Omega, a.k.a. Quentin Quire, replied. "I just got it!"

"Sure they do! Like this!" Iceman struck a pose. "_They're out to get you...there's demons closing in on every side..._"

"What is dat supposed t'be?" Gambit asked.

"_They will possess you unless you change that number on your dial..." _Iceman continued.

"Okay, now I _am_ scared," Gambit said.

"Quire, this is your last warning!" Rogue said.

"_Now is the time...for you and I to cuddle close together...All through the night...I'll save you from the terror on the screen...I'll make you see_...!"

Iceman began to move his shoulders and bob his head, first to the left, then to the right. "_That this is thriller…thriller night_...!" he sang. He made his hands into claws and turned back and forth. Gambit was laughing and the rest of the students were staring with morbid fascination.

"Ah told you boys-," Rogue was saying. "Now hand it over! You can have it back at the end of the day!"

There was a shout and then a cell phone spiraled through the air, bereft of its owner.

"_'Cause I can thrill you more than any ghost would ever dare try...Thriller, thriller night...!_" Bobby continued, adding more choreography, which looked pretty strange when you were completely weightless. "C'mon, Gambit! Get with it!"

"Like this?" Gambit replied, miming Iceman's increasingly elaborate dance moves.

Rogue snatched the cellphone from the air, and pressed several buttons. "No, ya two ninnies, it goes like this!" Rogue said, and the cell phone screen lit up with a music video.

"_Thriller, thriller night...So let me hold you tight and share a - Killer-diller-chiller-thriller - here toniiiiight_," Michael Jackson sang. Rogue executed an airborne left shuffle and right, hands clawed, back stiff.

"This is absurd," Kid Omega said.

"I love classical music!" Marvel Girl said. "Quire, pipe down and learn to appreciate culture!"

Several other students joined in. It was much better than the original lesson plans anyway. Kid Omega floated sullenly past. When sixth period was over, he demanded the return of his phone. As they came to a rest on the classroom floor, the cell phone was not to be found. Neither was Gambit.

Gambit was running down the hallway calling each person on Quire's contact list. "Buy! Sell! Trade!" he yelled at Quire's stock broker as he dashed up the staircase.

"Aaagh!" Quire screamed as he flew from the classroom and down the hall. "Come back! Stop!"

"I'd like to change my will," Gambit told Quire's lawyer. "That's right! I'm leaving everything to my pet turtle."

"This is identity theft!" Quire yelled, grabbing hold of the banister and starting up the staircase. "I'm going to have you fired!"

"You heard me, thirty pizzas. That's 1407 Greymalkin Lane...For Quire, Quentin Quire. Yes, dat's a real name!"

Just then, a disembodied hand rose up through the floor and seized Gambit by the ankle. "Whoops!" he cried, and then phased through the floor. The cell phone skidded down the hallway.

Gambit landed in a chair in the Headmasters' office. Shadowcat had a hold of his right ankle.

"Oh...uh oh," he said.

"Understatement," Wolverine said from behind his desk. Shadowcat joined Wolverine to stand in front of her open laptop.

"So you didn't pull me in here t'tell me I'm not on probation anymore?" Gambit asked.

Shadowcat and Wolverine shook their heads in unison.

"You're...putting off a kind of buzzy energy," Shadowcat told him. "It's starting to have an effect on people."

"Energy?" Gambit asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Like-lightbulbish," Kitty clarified.

"Lightbulbish?" Gambit repeated, slowly smiling at her.

Shadowcat smiled back and blinked sleepily. Wolverine nudged her with his elbow.

"We've been havin' ourselves a little chat," Wolverine said, "with a friend of yours. Kitty?"

Shadowcat blinked several times and then turned her laptop around so the screen faced Gambit. Nick Fury was staring out of it.

"Uh oh," Gambit said again. "Hi, Uncle Nick!"

"Don't you start with that Uncle nonsense," Fury said. "I'm going to be yelling at you."

"Nick had some ideas about what we're gonna do with you," Wolverine said.

"I told 'em locking you up wouldn't do any good," Fury informed him.

"Lock me up?" Gambit exclaimed. "It was just an office chair...and some ping pong balls...and a lunch tray...and a cell phone...and that other thing no one knows about yet!"

"Sorry, Remy," Shadowcat said. "It wasn't my idea!"

"You're out of control!" Wolverine said. "You're makin' people nuts!"

"Like I said, if you put him in a cell, he'll only get worse. I've seen this before," Fury continued, pointing at Gambit. "J.L. had him picked up and tossed in a cell when he was seventeen. Acting like an idiot, drinking, fighting, carrying on with women, doing what all else. J.L. thought a few nights in the tank would straighten his act out. Instead he started a prison riot!"

"It was a very small riot," Gambit said.

"This is just great! Just what we need!" Wolverine said. "Another riot!"

"That's when I stepped in. A little tough love on daddy's orders," Fury said. "Spent the next eight months kicking his ass up and down S.H.I.E.L.D. training grounds."

"You were in S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Shadowcat asked Gambit incredulously.

"All I heard was 'ass kicking,'" Wolverine muttered.

"Him!" Nick Fury shouted. "No! He'd disgrace a uniform! We just picked him up, dried him out, and showed him how to use a weapon that wasn't a stick or a playing card."

"It's a bo staff and my signature motif," Gambit responded.

"Why _do_ you throw cards, anyway?" Shadowcat asked.

"I'd give you a reason, but it would only be half true," Gambit told her. "Whatever happened to dat firearms instructor anyhow? De redhead? I liked her. Showed me how to properly handle my piece."

"You're going to shut up now," Nick Fury said, his face turning red.

"She was _real_...instructive. And if she wasn't completely satisfied wit' how I used my weapon, she'd make me drop and give her-."

"I am _NOT_ hearing this!" Fury shouted.

"Put a cork in it!" Wolverine told Gambit. "Not another word! Fury! Get a grip!"

"Oh, this is worse than we thought," Shadowcat said.

Nick Fury sat back in his office chair, glowering with his one eye. "All right, this here is what you're going to do. What you need is some discipline."

"I've been spanked enough for de year," Remy informed him.

Wolverine leapt over the desk and clamped a hand over Gambit's mouth. "Not... another... word," he said, his voice deadly.

"Discipline! Structure! Order! The same thing, day in and day out! Starting with some good old fashioned slogging! Burn through some miles! Now get moving!" Fury ordered.

Wolverine released Gambit who was looking at Fury dubiously. "Miles?" he made a face. "I'm not much of a distance runner..."

"Maybe what you need is a little encouragement," Wolverine threatened.

"Does encouragement involve dessert?" Gambit asked.

"No, it involves me chasing your ass down," Wolverine said with an evil grin. "And the reward for not getting caught is you not getting beaten to a pulp!"

Gambit grinned at the threats and slouched in his chair.

"I'm giving you thirty seconds' head start," Wolverine told him.

"I've got a stopwatch!" Shadowcat announced. "Ready...?"

Now Gambit was looking at Shadowcat, his face a little troubled.

"Set...! Go!" she announced, pressing the button on the stopwatch.

Gambit continued to sit, bemused.

"That's twenty-five seconds and counting..." Nick Fury said.

Wolverine started to growl. Now Gambit was looking at Wolverine, who was tensed to spring. Another few seconds elapsed. Gambit leapt out of the chair and bolted to the office door.

"Goodbye, Uncle!" he told Nick Fury with a wave before dashing down the hall.

"Say yer prayers, kid!" Fury shouted after him.

Thieves weren't built for long distance running. Sprinting, yes. Gambit was quite fast in a 400 meter dash, but he was not made for the long haul. Thieves were good at jumping, climbing, sneaking, and if it came to it, hiding. If you were a thief and you were running, it meant something had gone really, really wrong. Wolverine on the other hand wasn't necessarily built for speed. Having a 200-pound metal skeleton might slow a body down a bit, even if it had super strength and healing abilities. But Wolverine was built for going long distances, eating up miles with dogged determination. He was also very, very good at hunting and was perfectly at home in nature.

Gambit was not at home in the woods. He did not like mud, or fresh air, or trees, or wild animals. He did not like communing with nature. He liked concrete, and exhaust, tall buildings, and animals that were battered, fried, and put on a stick. He liked disappearing into a crowd of people. There was nowhere to disappear to out here in the woods surrounding the school. Just stupid trees and stupider bushes with thorns. Gambit was trying to detangle himself and his long coat from one of the thorn bushes when Wolverine caught up with him the first time. Wolverine was pretty disappointed that he'd managed to catch Gambit so quickly, so he let him go; the way a cat does when it has a mouse.

Gambit skidded down an embankment towards the lake. He'd made a mistake running out the back door instead of heading out the main entrance. He could have stood a chance if he'd stuck to the roads. But the route through the woods was shorter to get back to the relative safety of Salem Center and civilization. He started around the circumference of the lake. Mud was pulling at his boots. Mud was even stupider than the bushes. Wolverine dropped on him from above and Gambit found himself lying flat on his back in it with the wind knocked out of him.

"Is that the best you can do?" Wolverine asked. "'Cause what you do isn't very good."

Gambit gasped. "Get-off...!"

"All out of snappy patter now, Gumbo?" Wolverine said.

Gambit had one weapon left in his thief arsenal when jumping, climbing, sneaking, and hiding failed: _diversion_. His hand clawed his pocket, searching for the only weapon he could reach. He recovered a fuzzy purple tennis ball. Holding it in front of Wolverine's face, he squeezed it. It squeaked. He tossed it over Wolverine's shoulder. Wolverine watched as it bounced across the ground. Slowly, he turned back to look at Gambit, his expression murderous.

"Just kidding!" Gambit cried. "It was a joke!"

Which is why Gambit ended up in the lake.

He eventually made it back to his apartment building, squelching down the hallway, covered with mud, bits of sticks, and dead leaves. He picked a thorn out of his palm before opening his apartment door. Rothko was sitting in the middle of the floor. In a frenzy of pent up energy and boredom, he had destroyed half the apartment. He now sat surrounded by the remains of Gambit's couch, puffy white clouds of stuffing and shreds of fabric everywhere. Rothko waved his tail.

"You've been busy," Gambit said.

Rothko panted, looking not the least bit remorseful.

Gambit squelched over to his dog and crouched in front of him. "I know just how you feel," he said. "Would you like to go for a run?"

* * *

><p><em>Next time: Part one of Gambit – The missing years, a father's teenage mutant misery. <em>


	23. Reservoir Park

_Well, how many times have I defied the cold clutches of death?  
>And how many times have I stopped short from taking that last step?<br>And every time I've tried to hurt you, I have only hurt myself,  
>And the clouds keep rolling on in.<br>Well tell me...what am I gonna do?  
>Tell me, what am I gonna do?<br>To make it clear,  
>Well I can't get my head straight,<br>I can't see the sun.  
>Tell me, what am I gonna do?<br>So I can see,  
>So I can be the same as everyone.<br>_-Reservoir Park, The Duchess & The Duke

Jean-Luc didn't feel his age until his youngest son turned seventeen. By then, he felt the weight of his century-long life bearing down on him. Keeping up with Remy was exhausting. He found his youngest son just where Emil had said he would be; in Baton Rouge, passed out on a park bench. Remy was lying face down on the bench, his legs hanging off the seat with his feet on the ground. Emil had pulled his drunken cousin down from a highway overpass, where the teen had been walking tipsily along the top of a fence. At a loss for what to do, Emil had fed his cousin yet more alcohol until Remy had passed out, then he left his cousin on the bench to go in search of a phone. Jean-Luc looked down at Remy; barely a few weeks past his seventeenth birthday, and intoxicated. He sighed and pulled Remy into a seated position. Remy's head lolled. Jean-Luc lightly slapped his son's face, hoping to rouse him. Remy made a small sound, but otherwise remained unconscious.

Jean-Luc sat as Remy slumped over again. There was nothing to do but wait until he regained consciousness. The teen stood head and shoulders taller than his father, and was all gangly arms and legs. Jean-Luc doubted he could carry him to the car. He wondered as he often did what he was going to do. It must be easy for_ Les Autres_, he thought. They could revoke privileges, television, video games; incur curfews to discipline their children. The only thing Jean-Luc could take from Remy was his freedom, which was something Jean-Luc loathed to do. But if Remy continued on this path, he would likely end up dead. Remy first lost his younger cousin Etienne at fifteen then was forbidden to see his friend BellaDonna at sixteen. It was a one-two punch that had sent his son reeling into despair. Remy had since seemed determined to push his remaining friends out of his life and alienate his entire family. Gone was the little boy who was if not completely obedient, was at least eager to please, gregarious, and affectionate. Now he was rebellious, ill-tempered, and almost always drunk.

Tante Mattie said it was a phase and that he'd grow out of it. But Tante didn't know about the tightrope walk across the overpass fence. She didn't know about the fistful of pills Remy had chased with a bottle of vodka the week before that. Jean-Luc put his head in his hands. What was he going to do?

"Y'look like y'could use a drink, poppa..." Remy slurred from his prone position on the bench.

Jean-Luc sat up. "Y'need t'get up," he told his son as he pulled him upright. "We're going home."

Remy shook himself free of Jean-Luc's grip and took a few staggering steps away from the bench. "Don't touch me," he said.

Jean-Luc reached out and seized Remy by the back of his coat and steered him towards the car. Remy jerked himself free, stumbled and fell. When he hit the ground he did not get back up, but pressed his face into the grass. "Leave me alone," he moaned. "Go away."

It was painful to see his son like this. Jean-Luc returned to his vehicle, leaving his son behind in the grass. He would call in a favor with a friend at the local police department and have Remy picked up and taken to a holding cell. Remy would have a chance to sober up with the other drunks. After a day or so, Jean-Luc would come back for him. Maybe he'd be willing to listen to reason then.

But that didn't happen. Instead Jean-Luc received a call that Remy had instigated a riot and convinced his cellmates to rush the cell door when it was opened to admit another drunk. His son had started a commotion, no doubt using his mutant abilities to charm, distract, and incite a frenzy. There had been some damage done to the police department, random explosions, broken glass, overturned desks and chairs. One female officer had sworn her undying love for the teen and was insistent on his innocence. They were ill-equipped to deal with a mutant. There was talk of having him sent to a more secure facility, but Remy was still a minor. Jean-Luc despaired. There was one other person he could think of to ask for help.

"What? You want me to take in that little miscreant! He stole a jet!" Nick Fury was saying.

"It speaks more t'your lack of security dat a child of nine could abscond wit' such important government property. I hope you installed de measures I recommended," Jean-Luc responded.

Fury grumbled. "But what is he, can't be more than ten or eleven or so...?"

"_Non_, seventeen," Jean-Luc replied. "Only just."

Fury sighed. "Where does the time go?" he asked.

"Hard to tell for ones like us," Jean-Luc said. "De only measure of time I have is to watch my boys grow up, become men. Only that I am afraid Remy won't live so long as that. Not if dis continues."

After a pause, Fury said: "I'll see what I can do."

Fury ended up retrieving Remy himself, along with two other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Jean-Luc watched from afar as his son was restrained and placed into a waiting transport. Remy's eyes instantly lit on Jean-Luc as soon as he was outside of the police department. His gaze was accusing and full of loathing.

In the months that followed, Jean-Luc would only hear of his son's activities second-hand. Remy had at first tried to escape. After time spent in the brig, he seemed to wise up to the fact that he was not going to be able to elude his captors. From what Jean-Luc understood, S.H.I.E.L.D. boot camp was a grueling experience. Added to that was the fact that Remy would be living among _Les Autres_ now, would have the schedule he'd become accustomed to as a thief flipped upside-down, and would have all his freedom to come and go as he pleased revoked. Remy should understand diligence and hard work from his time training to become a Guild thief, but he had a natural talent that allowed him to coast along with a bare minimum of effort. Fury said he could run circles around the other cadets if he'd bothered to apply himself. Instead Remy was obstinate. He would follow orders to the letter, but often with a unique interpretation that ended with either himself or his fellow cadets getting into trouble. At the very least, Remy was sober and Jean-Luc knew where he was at all times.

Remy was returned a few months before he turned eighteen. When he came back, he was different. He looked different; his shoulders broader, he had filled out some. His hair had been cut short, likely not by his own choosing. His expression was blank save for the occasional wry smile. For someone who had been so expressive before, this change bothered Jean-Luc. Henri suggested that perhaps it was for the best. The clans would better respect a stoic leader, someone more like Jean-Luc; except Remy was also very cold. He spoke only to Jean-Luc to respond with a formal: "Yes, Father." With Henri he was flippant and dismissive. He had stopped taking his older brother's advice. Then there was that tragic business with the young thief girl in Paris. The event had rattled Remy. It was the first time Jean-Luc had seen change in Remy's demeanor since returning to New Orleans. That Remy would have toyed with the girl like a cat with a mouse was disheartening. That Remy could be so callous and completely lacking in empathy was shocking. This was the same boy who would burst into tears at the slightest hint of family discord. Or perhaps he wasn't. Perhaps Jean-Luc had killed that boy too.

Tante Mattie said things would change once Remy saw BellaDonna again. When they were reunited Remy would remember who he was. Jean-Luc prayed she was right. On the day of the wedding, Remy did seem nervous. When Henri put out a steadying hand to his younger brother's shoulder, Remy looked to him with gratitude. When BellaDonna appeared, the nervousness dropped away. Instead he looked incredulous, as if he hadn't actually expected to see her again. Belle practically ran down the aisle, dragging her hapless father behind her. No one in the church could say they had heard the vows spoken, as the couple had whispered them to one another like a shared secret. Jean-Luc was flooded with relief. Little did he know that in less than twenty-four hours he would be attending a tribunal to determine his son's fate.

BellaDonna's father Marius had demanded Remy's life for the loss of his son. The other Assassins would have accepted monetary compensation given the circumstances of Julien's death, but Marius would not be swayed. Jean-Luc's Council was adamant that Remy not be killed, as he was technically Guild property and their foretold prophecies hinged on his continued existence.

BellaDonna had been dragged from the Council chambers in hysterics. "It was me! I killed him!" she screamed over and over again. Tante Mattie was forced to sedate her. All the while, Remy sat in his chair with a blank expression on his face.

When they arrived at a verdict and sentencing it was an even split, Jean-Luc's Council opposed the Assassins' death sentence. Instead the Thieves Council had proposed banishment for a sentence of two years, with monetary compensation for Julien's death. Marius wouldn't hear of it.

"I'll settle de tie," Remy had said, the first words he'd spoken since he'd opened Julien's throat.

Jean-Luc wanted Remy to be silent, but he was now an adult. He had no rights to quiet his son.

"I'd rather die," Remy said and Jean-Luc felt his stomach turn.

"Remy," Jean-Luc said, "you don't know what you're saying. Two years is not so long-."

Remy had already stood from the chair. _Le Choisi _wouldn't just kill his son, they'd be sure to wring every last ounce of life from him. He'd die screaming and Jean-Luc would have to watch. When the monsters moved in, Remy did not bother to resist. He was taken to the stone table. Jean-Luc had a blade. He would slit Remy's throat if he had to. He wouldn't see him suffer another moment. Jean-Luc felt completely helpless. Remy had looked at Jean-Luc for a moment, before one of _Le Choisi_ forced his head to turn. His gaze was not accusing, there was no hatred in his eyes. There was just nothing.

"Stop!" Jean-Luc cried in desperation.

Seemingly, his request was answered when the chamber doors were thrown open. Candra strode into the chamber. Immediately, _Le Choisi_ abandoned their victim to pay her homage, to beg for a moment of freedom from pain. Marius too declined his head in a bow in her direction. Jean-Luc was so stunned that several moments passed before he did the same. Candra swept past the groveling monsters and gestured to the chamber doors.

"Go," she commanded the Council members. Jean-Luc, Marius, and Remy were left alone with Candra. Candra coolly appraised Remy who lay on the table. She then turned to Jean-Luc.

"I understand we have a bit of trouble, my pets," she said. "I am here to settle the matter."

"You shouldn't have to trouble yourself, Benefactress," Marius said, his gaze cast downward. Jean-Luc stared into Candra's face.

"Nevertheless, here I am," she replied. "And you shall have compensation for the loss of your first born son, Marius. I will see to it. Shall we say _half_ of what was paid for the other child?" she dismissively waved to where Remy lay. "It seems fair to me."

Marius could hardly refuse her. His mouth opened and closed before he finally bowed his head again. "Yes, Benefactress," he replied.

Candra snapped her fingers and two large guards appeared through the chamber door. "Take this one," she directed, pointing at Remy.

Jean-Luc spoke: "What-? You intend to take him?" The thought frightened him.

Candra smiled coldly at Jean-Luc. This time, Remy resisted. He fought his captors.

"Father!" Remy cried. "Don't let them take me!"

Candra silenced Remy. He gave a sharp cry of pain before losing consciousness. He was removed from the chamber. "If I can't have my son, why should you keep yours?" she asked.

"Candra, I beg you," Jean-Luc began.

"Let us come to an agreement, Jean-Luc," Candra interrupted. "You will tell me the whereabouts of The Antiquary so that I might kill him. And you will tell me what he has done with my son."

"I-I wish that I could," Jean-Luc began. "I do not know where he has fled to, where he has hidden himself. We could enlist the aid of Dr. Strange-."

Candra forced Jean-Luc's mouth shut with her telekinetic powers. His teeth bit down on his tongue. "Where-is-my-son," Candra demanded.

Jean-Luc was released. He tasted blood in his mouth. "Candra...your boy, he's dead."

Candra stood like a statue, her face a mask of pure hatred and fury. "Dead?" she asked, her voice was low and strained.

"His powers-killed him," Jean-Luc finished. "He was burned. He died. Tante Mattie and I-we put his ashes beneath her home."

Candra's jaw was clenched tight. Tears formed in her eyes then rolled down her cheeks. For an instant, Jean-Luc felt heartbroken for the woman. She had cared for the boy, she wasn't completely lacking in compassion. She was someone's mother once.

"I will take the runt in his place," she finally said. "You won't see him again, Jean-Luc."

"Please, don't kill him," Jean-Luc pleaded.

"I have no intention of killing him," Candra replied. "I intend to use him."

"There is still the matter of the child," Marius spoke. "The unborn child. The ritual will have made my daughter's fertility a certainty."

Jean-Luc turned on Marius. "What of it?" he said, his voice finally breaking.

"BellaDonna does not need a reminder of your demon son in her belly. I would have it gone," Marius said.

"Are you so blinded by your own hatred?" Jean-Luc cried. "That you would see an unborn child killed, your own grandchild?"

"Your son's progeny means nothing to me," Marius said. "He's not even of your blood."

Jean-Luc turned to Candra with an expression of disbelief. Candra's gaze was calculating. "I propose a modified offer..." she began. "Should the child be a boy, I would have him. I will then return Remy to you in nine months' time. I am patient, I can wait."

Jean-Luc blinked at her.

"I won't have my daughter used as a brood mare!" Marius cried. Candra threw him across the room with a wave of her hand.

"This is my offer. You will have your son back Jean-Luc, the bride and groom will be reunited, and the pact restored in exchange for a boy child," Candra said. "This is more than fair. I am being very generous."

"Yes," Jean-Luc finally agreed. "And if it's a girl child?"

Candra turned away and began to walk from the room. "Get rid of it," she said, and then she was gone.

A few weeks later, the magic told them it was a girl. Marius had his daughter drink a poison that would cause her to miscarry. Jean-Luc was devastated. That poor woman had suffered enough indignities in her short life. She had been forced to know and do and see things no child should ever have known or done or seen. Belle had been forced into adulthood without full understanding, and in many ways was still naïve and childish. She was broken, just like Remy. Jean-Luc hoped that they could together put the pieces back together, that the two of them could be whole. Now it was never to be.

Tante Mattie was enraged. She swore to never treat another Assassin, forbid them from her home, and cursed them all. No Assassin would ever bear a child again unless BellaDonna could have what was taken from her restored, which was and impossibility. Tante Mattie had considerable powers at her disposal. The curse was spoken and no one doubted its validity. Peace would be restored with time, because there simply would be no Assassins left. They weren't afforded long lives as the Thieves were.

Jean-Luc did not know what had become of his son until some time later. Henri had tracked him down in Seattle and saw him to a facility where he could be treated for his illness. In later years, Jean-Luc would reflect on all the times he had tried to protect Remy, only to see him hurt. He had tried to undo the prophecies, be rid of The Antiquary, had sent Remy to S.H.I.E.L.D. to save him from himself, only to see him sent to an institution. Who could say which event had finally broken his son's mind? Jean-Luc knew his power was limited; he was only a human after all. He should have known not to meddle in the affairs of super-powered beings. Jean-Luc knew that before he died, he could try one last time to do something to protect Remy. Something within his limited scope and power. He would negotiate with Pollard's men who had attacked Remy and his friends the X-Men. Restore some kind of order to New Orleans and gauge which of Sheriff Pollard's followers could be bribed, manipulated, or coerced. He was making headway with the men who had been riled and ready to fight. They wanted blood of course, but then they were also terrified of _Le Diable Blanc. _Jean-Luc told them that his son would revoke his death curse. That the white side of _Le Diable _would win out over the black. It was done, they were in agreement. Remy, his friends, and the clans folk would be protected.

Before Jean-Luc left the funeral home where Pollard's viewing was taking place, Jean-Luc spied a man. The man was openly staring at Jean-Luc in a calculating sort of way. Jean-Luc felt he should have recognized the man, but couldn't place the face. The man touched his own forehead in a mock salute before slipping into the shadows. Jean-Luc did not have long to ponder this strange occurrence. Shortly after, he was killed in a fiery explosion.

* * *

><p><em>Next time: A magic trick... a confrontation with the Master of Magnetism...and Bobby and Remy: Culinary Artists!<em>


	24. These Days

_I've stopped my dreaming,  
>I won't do too much scheming<br>These days...  
>These days.<br>These days I sit on corner stones  
>And count the time in quarter tones to ten.<br>Please don't confront me with my failures,  
>I had not forgotten them.<br>_-These Days, Nico & The Velvet Underground

BellaDonna told herself it was still too early to tell. She was standing in front of her full length mirror. She wore a robe which hung open at the front. She carefully looked at herself from various angles. It was just her imagination, but she thought she might already be showing. There was one way she could be certain. Nearby was a shallow bowl set on top of a small table. There was a mixture inside the bowl, mostly oil and white pigment which she had mixed with a pestle. There were other things in the mixture that couldn't be seen; mostly Belle's hopes and dreams. She stirred the mixture very slowly and deliberately one last time. She set the pestle aside and took up a small brush. She could have one of the other women perform this ritual, but BellaDonna didn't want anyone else to know. She wanted this to be entirely her own. No one was going to take this from her.

If Tante Mattie had still been alive, Belle would have gone to her. Instead, BellaDonna had to mark herself with the paint very carefully, using her mirrored reflection to paint in reverse and upside-down. She painted a smooth arc from one side of her pelvis to the other, just above her pubic bone. Above the arc, she carefully marked out the runes that would give her the answers she was looking for. When she was done, she set the bowl and brush back onto the table. She returned to the mirror and waited.

Seven minutes passed and nothing happened. Perhaps she had drawn the symbols incorrectly? Maybe she had put the mixture together wrong? Maybe it really was too soon to tell? She looked down at her bare stomach. Maybe the magic hadn't worked at all.

Belle felt a slight warmth. It started several inches below her navel and traveled outward. She looked at herself in the mirror. The white paint was changing. Would it be red...or black? She hoped for red. The paint darkened. It seemed to turn gray. Belle's heart was thundering in her chest. No, it was pink. She watched as it darkened. Red. Her heart leapt and she hugged her arms around herself. She looked at her stomach again just to be sure. Red, dark red paint. She hurried back to the small table and took up the brush again. She had one more question to ask. Returning to the mirror she added two more symbols. Boy or girl? She waited. One symbol turned black, the other red.

Girl.

Happily, she twirled and then stopped herself. No, from now on she'd walk on eggshells. She walked to the mirror and stared into her own violet eyes. No more caffeine, no more sugar, she told herself. No more glasses of wine and gossip with Mercy. She tried to calm her breathing and her racing heart. She wouldn't do anything to jeopardize this gift.

She would have to tell Remy. Belle had assigned all Guild communication to the very capable hands of Mister Pierce. She had no telephone. She also had no computer and no internet and no real interest in technology at all. While the thieves had taken to the electronic world as another means of thievery, Belle had yet to hear of a way someone could be stabbed, shot, or poisoned through an internet connection and therefore found it useless. So she could not contact Remy that way. A letter would be best, she decided, more personal. And she wouldn't have to see his reaction. She tried to imagine what would happen when he found out.

The worst case scenario would be that he would feel trapped. He would come to despise her for it. When she wrote her letter, she would make no demands on him, put no pressures. It would be an invitation. He could be a part of his daughter's life, or he could choose not to. Belle knew the latter would never be an option for Remy. She knew he was an honorable person and that he tried to do the right thing. He was loyal to a fault, even to people who hurt and betrayed him. She also knew how badly he wanted a family, but hardly let himself dare hope for one. Belle was certain he'd be even more pleased to have a daughter. Best case scenario: he would come back, maybe not for her, but for a child. In either situation, Belle knew she would no longer be alone. She would have a little girl.

She took up the paintbrush and wrote out a name on the mirror. She smiled at her reflection through the brush strokes. She knew Remy would like it too.

* * *

><p>Remy knew he should have found a home for the dog. God knew he could barely take care of himself let alone be responsible for another living being. Though there had been a time when he had taken care of the girls, though Laura and Stormy had been largely self-sufficient. They had each needed him in a different way, though companionship was a large component of both relationships and the need was mutual. Well, perhaps <em>need<em> was too strong a word in their cases. When Remy encountered Laura Kinney, he knew then that there was a reason for the trauma he had experienced growing up. His childhood, or lack thereof, gave him in the ability to understand X-23 and what she was going through, though she had suffered a lot more hurt and humiliation than Remy had. Laura and Remy both had purposely harmed themselves. Laura cut herself because she wanted to feel something. When Remy was her age, he had drunk himself into a stupor because he felt too much. He also knew what it was like for something to trigger a lack of self-control. It gave him peace of mind to know that he could talk her out of a homicidal rage. It meant there might be hope for him. If Laura was a little storm cloud, then the other girl was the sunshine, the light of his life. One he missed every day. But it didn't do him any good to dwell on that.

Remy had always wanted a dog, but Jean-Luc had been adamant: no dogs allowed. They weren't exactly thieves' best friend. Having a dog was a huge problem for Remy. Firstly, there was the problem of what to do with Rothko while he was away from his apartment. Then there was the obscene amount of shed dog fur which did not go well with his black uniform. Also, he didn't know the first thing about taking care of a dog.

There were benefits however, which Remy used to justify keeping Rothko. Whenever he came back to the apartment, the dog was happy to see him. Since most people were more pleased to see Remy leaving, this was a new and novel experience. Rothko didn't care if Remy was chronically late, or that he snuck an occasional cigarette, and didn't always tell the whole and complete truth. The dog just accepted Remy for who he was, which was also new. And now that Remy was running all over God's Green Earth with or without Wolverine chasing him, it was nice to have a running partner.

Rothko also opened doors for Remy in an unexpected way. It began with the woman who lived on the floor below him who had three short sausage-looking dogs. Ever since Remy had moved in, the woman acted as if the neighborhood was going downhill fast and it was all Remy's fault. Once she met Rothko, things suddenly changed. Now he and the woman, who was named Andrea, could always have something to talk about when they met in the elevator.

"How is Rothko's daddy today?" Andrea would ask.

Then there was Remy's next door neighbor, Vernon, an elderly widower who owned a brown chubby dog named Abbie. Remy took to walking with Vernon to the dog park where they would sit on a bench and watch the two dogs run around. Remy would listen to Vernon talk about his days as a Navy pilot, recall the times he spent with his late wife who he called "my honey," and hear his descriptive observations about whatever attractive woman happened to be in the park that day.

"Look at the stems on that brunette," Vernon lamented. "If I was _your_ age..."

Remy didn't need precognitive powers to see his future as it was sitting on the park bench beside him.

There was also the weird hipster couple living in the basement apartment who were married "ironically." They had an equally weird hairless dog that they dressed in miniaturized cable-knit sweaters. After they'd introduced the hairless Sid to overly hairy Rothko, they quickly introduced Remy to a bunch of bands he'd never heard before and now he had an iPod full of pirated music.

The best benefit to having Rothko was that he could use the dog as an excuse to get out of things he didn't want to do. Stay late? Nope, got to let the dog out. Take the students on a field trip to the planetarium? Sorry, Rothko's got a vet appointment that day. Unfortunately, Wolverine quickly became wise to this ploy. He turned the tables on Remy and told him Rothko could come to school with him, as long as the dog didn't maul any of the students. Remy observed that Wolverine was more likely to do so than Rothko, something that he regretted saying out loud immediately.

That was why Remy was standing on the back patio late one afternoon long after classes were let out. He was tossing the squeaky purple ball for Rothko to fetch. They made a great team, since Rothko never got tired of fetching and Remy never got tired of throwing things. He was fiddling with his iPod scrolling through the new music when Rothko returned with his slobber-saturated ball. Absently, Remy took it from him. This time he was going to throw it far so he could have a chance to browse through the different albums. Currently, some fast paced punk-inspired number was drilling through his head. He moved the sucker in his mouth from one cheek to another, whizzed down through his playlist, and drew his arm back to hurl the ball. He let fly the ball, and glanced up to see just how far it would go. He realized a second too late that it wasn't going to go very far at all.

"Oh, shit..." he said, because the Master of Magnetism was about to get hit with a purple squeaky slobber-infused rubber ball.

The ball sailed a very short distance, striking Magneto in the left shoulder. A fine spray of dog spit caught the late afternoon light as the ball bounced off Magneto's chest with a short squeak. The ball fell to the patio, bounced again and was caught by the enthusiastic dog. Rothko ran around merrily beneath Magneto, who was hovering a few yards off the ground. The ball was squeaked repeatedly.

Remy felt a thrill of adrenaline course through his body. Instantly, he processed his options. He could reach for his phone and alert the other X-Men with the handy app Kitty had created for them in case of just such an emergency. However, Magneto might perceive Gambit reaching into his pocket as a potential threat and strike him dead on the spot. Second option: he could start running. This was not the best idea either. There were plenty of metal objects lying around that he could be impaled with. There was one other tactic that Magneto might not expect.

Slowly Remy reached up and took the sucker from his mouth and pulled his earbuds from his ears. "Uhm...sorry!" Remy called, waving. "Didn't see you there!"

Magneto wiped the back of his hand across his cheek and chin. He did not look very pleased. "Is this your animal?" he asked, pointing down at the frolicking dog.

Remy thought for a moment. "I see our relationship as more of a partnership," he replied.

Magneto's upper lip curved ever so slightly into a sneer. "I do not care for the breed," he stated.

Remy looked at his dog. No, Remy supposed that a Nazi death camp survivor wouldn't care very much for German Shepherds. "He's a reformed mutant-eating dog who has seen de error of his ways," Remy informed Magneto.

Magneto wasn't impressed.

"I have'ta ask..." Gambit hedged. "What are you doin' here?"

"That's no concern of yours," Magneto said, touching down onto the patio.

"Actually, it kinda does concern me, seein' as how we are on opposin' sides of de same coin here," Remy told him. "It'd be mighty neighborly if you could state your purpose b'fore I call de others over."

"I am expected," Magneto said.

"Oh, well, good then," Remy replied. "Your name'll be on de guest list and you can check yourself in at reception. You'll wanna head on over t'de visitors' entrance up front. Doop'll take care of you." The thought of Magneto having to "talk" to Doop amused him greatly. "Y'have a pleasant day, now!"

Remy turned and with a signal to Rothko, walked through the back entrance. Remy closed the door, leaving Magneto standing outside. Remy was now in the commercial style kitchen at the rear of the house. Rothko entrenched himself under the round kitchen table. Bobby was sitting at the table eating a candy bar.

"Is he still out dere?" Remy asked Bobby as he walked to the trash and threw out the stick to his sucker.

"No, he just walked towards the west wing," Bobby replied. "He didn't issue any demands or make any grand speeches did he?"

"He's not a dog lover," Remy replied as he walked over to the stainless steel refrigerator and pulled open the doors.

"Did he say what he was doing here?" Bobby asked, wadding up his candy wrapper and tossing it into the trash.

"Nope," Remy replied. "Just said he was expected."

"Hunh," Bobby said walking over to the counter and leaning against it. "Probably here to see Rogue, I suppose."

"Hm," Remy said, removing an uncooked beef roast from the refrigerator.

Bobby regarded his watch. "Looks like it's almost four o'clock," he said. "They'll want to get a move on if he's going to take her to the early bird special. Seniors eat for under five dollars at Denny's."

Remy joined Bobby at the counter and gave him a disapproving look. "Dat's not very nice," Remy said. "Dat's ageist. B'sides, Mercy is twice your age and you didn't have any problems wit' her."

Bobby felt his face flush. "That's...that was different! You can't seriously be okay with this whole Rogue and Magneto situation," Bobby said.

"You can't help who you fall for," Remy told him, pulling the cellophane off the roast. "Are you gonna help me out wit' dis or not?"

Bobby sighed. "Fine, what are we making?"

"_Rôti de boeuf à la cocotte_," Remy replied.

"Sounds fancy."

"It's roast beef...In a pot," Remy said. "Put it in, cover it for a while, and call it done."

"Good deal," Bobby said, opening the kitchen cabinets to find a pot. "What will we serve the vegetarians?"

Remy returned to the refrigerator. "Looks like dere's a mess of green beans in here."

"We could make green bean casserole," Bobby said.

Remy shuddered. "Don't know what dem green beans ever did t'you to deserve such a fate."

"People like green bean casserole, Remy."

"People who don't know any better," Remy said dryly.

Bobby opened the pantry. "Here's some potatoes," he said. "We can cook some in the pot and put some in the oven. The veg-heads can have themselves a baked potato and put whatever they want on it."

"Good idea," Remy said, turning on the oven. Bobby tossed him several potatoes and Remy threw them into the oven.

"Shouldn't we poke holes in them?" Bobby asked.

"Why?" Remy questioned.

"Uhm...I don't know?" Bobby responded.

Remy shrugged and pulled out a cutting board. There were some carrots on the countertop. He chopped off the green ends with a knife and began haphazardly chopping the carrots into chunks.

"Shouldn't we peel those first?" Bobby asked.

"Why?" Remy said without pausing.

"I don't know that either," Bobby responded watching as Remy dumped the carrots into the pot with the beef. "Did you wash them first?"

Remy picked up a carrot chunk and chewed it thoughtfully. "Nope," he said. "Kinda tastes...earthy. Not bad."

Bobby gaped at him. "We can't feed these kids dirt!" he exclaimed.

"You wanted to feed dem green bean casserole, I don't see how dis is worse," he said, eating another carrot.

"You should have had Mercy teach you how to cook," Bobby observed.

"I bet she taught you plenty," Remy said with a grin. Bobby's face turned red again.

"Wha-augh! Shut up!" Bobby said.

"What's your problem?" Remy asked, a little miffed. "Is it 'cause she's _my_ family? Are you embarrassed? Is she not good enough for you?"

"No!" Bobby exclaimed. He backtracked when he saw Remy clench the knife. "No, I mean, yes! She's plenty good! I mean-! Can we not talk about this?"

Remy regarded Bobby with squinted eyes. "You New Englanders are all a bunch of Puritanical prudes. Hey, Myles Standish, c'mon down off de Mayflower and join de New World."

"Just because I don't go around sleeping with every woman I meet doesn't make me a Puritan!" Bobby said. "I'm not that kind of guy. I'm not-_you_!"

Remy pointed the knife at Bobby. "You wanna know what your problem is?"

"No, but I imagine you're going to tell me," Bobby said.

"Your problem is that you can't handle a woman who knows what she wants. You wanna be de hero, rescue de damsel, be _de man_." Remy retrieved a box of beef stock and dumped it into the pot. He regarded it for a moment and then returned to the upper shelves.

"Speak for yourself!" Bobby said.

"Which is why you run scared every time Birdie shows up, which is why you won't call Mercy back. You can't stand a woman who knows how t'please herself," Remy observed, pulling down a bottle of Burgundy. He emptied it into the pot as well.

"I'm sure you didn't mean for that to come out the way it sounded," Bobby said.

Remy twirled the knife and rolled his eyes. "Well, why wouldn't I? Warbird's a different species entirely. She's prolly gonna have t'show you de ropes. Who knows what Shi'ar are into?"

Bobby slammed the lid down onto the pot. "You're-incorrigible!"

"So I've heard," Remy replied. "Speakin' of which, I wonder if de carpet matches de drapes?"

Bobby stared at Remy. "What. Did you. Say?"

"Y'know. Feathers on top?" Remy said, gesturing to his hair. "Feathers below?"

"Augh!" Bobby said, clapping his hands over his ears. "The things that come out of your mouth!"

"Well, if I'm supposed t'be de Health instructor..." Remy began. "Shouldn't I be informed in case anyone's got any questions?"

"Who is going to ask that question-other than you!"

"Teenage boys," Remy replied.

Bobby relented. "Okay, point."

"Here's how it'll go," Remy said, shoving the pot into the oven. "You go find out, and report back t'me."

"I will do no such thing!" Bobby cried.

"Puritan," Remy said.

"You've got no place talking to me about women!" Bobby said. "You're the one who's always got to be Mister Mysterious, sneaking around all secret-like. Always disappearing every Friday night to do who knows what. Oooh, look at me, I've got an affected accent and can't answer a straightforward question. Everything I say is a double entendre. Soooo sexy."

"You got me pegged," Remy said.

"...I spend all my time sneaking off to talk to some woman...," Bobby continued.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about," Remy said.

"Don't give me that crap," Bobby said. "You've been yakkin' it up every chance you get. Don't bother to deny it. Everyone knows you're sleeping with Joanna."

"Even if dat were true," Remy said, "it's none of your damn business! De only bed-partner I have is Rothko, and our relationship is purely platonic."

"So you're having phone sex instead!"

Remy laughed. "Not quite. I can only charm people face-to-face."

"Give me your phone then," Bobby demanded, sticking out his hand.

"No!" Remy snapped. "Who I call is no business of yours."

"If you've got nothing to hide, then what's the big deal, Sneaky MacSneakerson?"

"It's an invasion of privacy," Remy responded, crossing his arms.

"Fine, keep your secrets," Bobby said, then turned to walk away. When Remy turned to look into the oven, Bobby jumped onto his back. "Give me the phone!"

"Augh! Get off!" Remy cried, spinning around with Bobby's arm around his neck. "This is a hostile work environment! I'm calling H.R.!"

"I _am_ H.R.!" Bobby cried triumphantly. He was trying to force Remy's cell phone out of his pocket. "God! Can your jeans _get_ any tighter?"

"AUGH!"

Warbird made a sudden appearance in the doorway, blade drawn ready for battle. "I heard sounds of a struggle!" she said with a swipe of her blade.

The two men looked up at her. Remy was bent over the countertop with Bobby's arm still looped around his neck. Bobby's hand was in Remy's pocket.

Warbird lowered her weapon. "Ah," she said.

"This isn't what it looks like!" Bobby cried, immediately releasing Remy.

"Well," Warbird said as she returned her blade to its sheath. "This certainly explains some things."

"We were just talkin' 'bout you, Birdie," Remy said lightheartedly.

"Shut up!" Bobby told Remy.

Warbird looked unimpressed. She turned and walked away.

"Wait! No! Come back, I can explain!" Bobby called and started after her.

When Bobby was gone, Remy pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He crouched behind the counter and sat on the floor with his back leaned up against the cabinets. He dialed.

"You will not believe what just happened," he said. "Are you busy?...Dat's not too late at all!...Can I see you then? It'll be much better if I tell you in person."

* * *

><p><em>Next time: Gambit phones a friend...with benefits.<em>


	25. I'm Absolutely Cuckoo

_Don't fall in love with me yet, we only recently met  
>True I'm in love with you but, you might decide I'm a nut<br>Give me a week or two to, go absolutely cuckoo  
>And when you see your error, then you can flee in terror<br>Like everybody else does, I only tell you this 'cause  
>I'm easy to get rid of, but not if you fall in love<br>Know now that I'm on the make, and if you make a mistake  
>My heart will certainly break, I'll have to jump in a lake<br>And all my friends will blame you, there's no telling what they'll do  
>It's only fair to tell you, I'm absolutely cuckoo<br>_-Absolutely Cuckoo, The Magnetic Fields

Laura Kinney, a.k.a. X-23, had reintroduced Cecelia Reyes to Remy LeBeau a few months ago. He had been injured and needed medical attention. Cecelia reluctantly agreed to help. The nature of his wounds required him to take off his clothing so that she could treat him. He had a gash across his stomach that traveled southward to his groin. Cecelia gave him a sheet to cover himself. He didn't seem to be at all shy about the situation. He lay on the exam table with his arms behind his head and stared fixedly at the ceiling while she tended to his injuries. Cecelia was forced to admit to herself that he was not unattractive. Unfortunately, the proximity of her hands to his groin resulted in an involuntary reaction.

"Whoops, sorry," Remy said smiling up at the ceiling. "Got a mind of his own..."

It wasn't as if Cecelia hadn't experienced this with other male patients. But the fact that he didn't even have the courtesy to be the least bit embarrassed annoyed her. He was a liar, a thief, and a scoundrel, which is not a word Cecelia often used in her vocabulary. He was in fact the text book definition of the word.

"Lie still," she told him.

He reached down and readjusted the sheet. "You do fine work," he told her. "You have de loveliest hands."

"Stop talking," she commanded. Really, she thought, does he think he's being charming? A grown man involved with an underage teenage girl...Disgusting. When she let him know her feelings, he didn't bother to deny it. His demeanor turned cold towards her though. There were no more involuntary reactions after that. Too bad, she thought, if he didn't want to be judged, then he shouldn't be having sex with a minor, no matter what the girl had seen or done. This man was taking advantage of the teen. Cecelia should have castrated him.

Later Cecelia found out that the only relationship Remy had with Laura was a protective big brother-fatherly type of thing. Cecelia didn't completely understand why Remy felt compelled to protect Laura, but his words and actions had made it clear that there was nothing sexual going on between him and the girl. He was instead extraordinarily generous, which Cecelia found strange for a man who spent his work hours stealing things. He was also compassionate, patient, and nonjudgemental. The latter trait was something Cecelia could be said to lack. She didn't apologize for her mistake, but did try to temper her words. She could _try_ to be nice. He was still a liar and a thief and even if the women he pursued were of age, he was still a womanizer.

He'd again surprised her by being perfectly straightforward with her. When he spoke from the heart he would say insightful and honest things. He was even funny in a sort of self-deprecating way. He never pointed out that she'd been wrong, but simply accepted her unspoken apology. They could be friends after that. Cecelia did get the idea that Remy was a bit dim given the egregious mistakes of his past, his abuse of the English language, and the fact that he sometimes looked at her blankly during the course of a normal conversation. It was a good thing he was nice to look at...very nice.

Cecelia blamed her dream on the glass of wine she'd drunk and the novel she was reading to unwind before going to bed. In her dream Remy was on her exam table wearing the sheet. When she touched him with her hands, his injuries melted away as if by magic. Her hands traveled over his stomach, up his abdomen, and over his chest. Bruises, cuts, and scrapes healed themselves under her touch. He responded to her in the same way he had before, only with more immediacy. His hands captured her own, and she let him guide her hands back down his body to slide beneath the sheet.

She woke with a start, her heart pounding. With a groan, she kicked her legs free from the tangle of sheets. Cecelia turned over to press her face into her pillow. So much for relaxing before bed. She needed to just lay here and think about...baseball; taking the pitcher's mound, warming up her arm. Remy was holding a bat. No, that wasn't going to work. Cecelia put her hand between her legs. If she was going to this she should at least think about her boyfriend. Think about his eyes and not Remy's red ones, the ones that glowed hot and molten and full of promise. She gasped.

_You have de loveliest hands..._

Cecelia sighed deeply several times, then lay still. Okay, she was relaxed. She closed her eyes, maybe now she could sleep. Her cell phone buzzed across her nightstand. Cecelia reopened her eyes. Who would be calling her at three o'clock in the morning? It had better be an emergency, she thought. She picked up her phone and looked at the caller ID. It said: Unknown.

She answered it. "Hello?" she said.

"I was thinking..." a voice said.

"Remy?" Cecelia asked with surprise. Her face burned with embarrassment. "Wha-what? What do you want?"

"T'talk t'you," he answered, "about Hemingway. Do you know him?"

"What?" she asked again, then: "No, not personally."

"Know _of_ him, I mean," Remy said. "His writing. _Th'Sun Also Rises_, have you read it?"

Cecelia stared at the ceiling. What in the world was this about? "I might have, in college. Is that the one where he's a writer in Paris?"

"No, that's _A Moveable Feast_," Remy replied. "Dis is his first published book, de one about bullfighting."

"Sounds barbaric," Cecelia replied.

"It is. But de way he writes...it's cinematic. Like you're moving through water, seein' it all in slow motion. Swimming though his words."

"Are you drunk?" she asked, not kindly.

"No," he said. "Are you? You sound...out of sorts."

"It's three a.m.!" Cecelia said.

"I was under de impression E.R. surgeons kept late hours," he replied.

"It's my night off," she informed him.

"Oh...did I wake you?"

"Sort of," Cecelia admitted.

"So you haven't read it, _The Sun Also Rises_?"

"I don't really read literature," Cecelia said. "If I'm not reading medical journals, I read chick lit to give my brain a break."

"Chick lit?" he repeated.

"Literature for...chicks. Women. Trashy novels," she said, picking up her paperback from the nightstand and regarding the cover. There was glitter on it. "Maybe you'd like this one. It's about a girl with supernatural powers who dates vampires. She lives in Louisiana."

Remy was silent for a moment. "I find it ironic that your idea of a break is to escape to my reality."

"Have you dated a vampire?" she asked.

"No," he began, "but my last relationship _was_ a bit-draining. So you don't like Ernest Hemingway?"

"No, not really," she answered.

"And here I thought you were smart," Remy said lightheartedly.

"If you want to talk literature, talk to Hank," she snapped. "See how amicable he is at three in the morning."

"Boy, you can dish it out, but you can't take it," Remy told her. "I was just wondering what it says about me that I like him."

"Hank?"

"No, Hemingway."

"I think they based the Dos Equis guy on him," Cecelia said and turned over onto her side. "The Most Interesting Man In The World."

"Well, Hemingway is interesting, but..." Remy said. "Dos Equis?"

"You know, the beer commercials. 'Stay thirsty, my friend,'" she quoted.

Remy was silent. "Oh, so you _are_ drunk."

Cecelia sighed loudly into the phone. "So what is it about Hemingway that is so interesting?"

"He based his writings on his own personal experiences," Remy told her. He paused. "He killed himself, you know. He put a rifle in his mouth."

"I guess I knew that. You would think someone like him-who had lived this incredible life- wouldn't have just thrown it all away," Cecelia said.

"I don't think he knew what he was doin'," Remy replied.

"How can you put a rifle in your mouth," Cecelia asked, "and not understand the outcome?"

Remy was quiet for a moment. "He was ill."

"Obviously," Cecelia said.

"He'd had electroshock treatments. He felt like it had zapped his creativity. He was depressed," Remy said a little defensively. "It was a hereditary sickness, only they didn't know until after Hemingway was dead. It affected his brain. His father killed himself too."

Cecelia thought for a moment. "That's very tragic," she said finally. "It's too bad he couldn't get the help he needed."

"Yes," Remy said after a moment. "He wasn't a very nice person sometimes."

"Sometimes these creative genius types aren't," Cecelia said.

"I've had these same thoughts myself," he responded. "Like Picasso. He could be downright cruel. But does that make his work or vision any less brilliant?"

"I'm not a fan of modern art," she told him.

"People don't like what they don't understand." Remy pressed on: "Picasso used people. The women in his life were his muses. Like Dora Maar, de Weeping Woman. She was chronically depressed."

"Did she kill herself too?" Cecelia asked.

"No, she cut herself, self-mutilation. Picasso sent her to a psychotherapist. He wasn't all bad," Remy replied. "She was an artist too. She was more his equal than de other women in his life. She was beautiful and sad. Have you seen it, his portrait of her?"

"It all looks like a bunch of squiggles and blobs to me," Cecelia said. "A five year old could do better."

"'_Every child is an artist. Th'problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up_,'" Remy said. "Picasso said that. And it's not squiggles and blobs. It's a different way of seeing."

"I don't see it," she said, looking at the framed print on her wall. It was of a woman lying in a brownish field looking up at a grey house. It matched her bedspread.

"You're a doctor...you know how de brain works. We see de world in glimpses and fragments, and our brain puts things together so they make sense. Picasso's work is like that. It's a truer way of seeing. Taking de pieces apart, seeing what's underneath to the truth."

This was singularly the strangest conversation Cecelia had ever had. Interesting, but strange. Remy was speaking passionately and defensively about Pablo Picasso. She was forced to rearrange her assumptions about him again. "You seem to know a lot about this kind of thing," she observed.

"I studied art," he replied.

Cecelia wasn't aware that thieves went to college. "Was that your major?"

"Major?" he repeated, confused.

"At university," she prompted.

"I didn't go to school," he told her.

"But you just said-," Cecelia began. It seemed she'd lost him again. "Never mind."

He was quiet for a few moments, long enough that Cecelia thought he might have hung up. "Hello?" she asked.

"In those medical books you read..." he started, "have you ever come across anything about borderline personality disorder? Or emotional instability?"

"It's not really my area of expertise," Cecelia said. She wondered where this conversation was going now. "I could easily look something up for you. Is this about Hemingway or Dora Maar?"

"Neither," he said. "Will you? Look up some things?"

"Sure," she said.

"Eh, _bien, merci_," he said. Then he was silent.

"Hello?" she said. "Remy?" He had hung up.

He had terrible phone etiquette. The following phone conversations with him abruptly began and ended. Cecelia began to wonder if he'd ever used a phone before. When she called him back a few days later, she made a point of saying hello.

"Hello, Remy. It's Cecelia," she said.

"I know dat, I can see you on my caller ID," he told her.

"Your calls come up as 'unknown' for me," she informed him.

Remy laughed. "I like dat."

"I found some articles for you," she told him. "About BPD."

"Can you send them t'me?" he asked.

"I can drop them off," Cecelia said. "At the school. I'm going to look in on my aunt tomorrow. She lives in North Salem."

"I'm not at de school," he told her.

"Where are you then?" she asked.

"I have an apartment in town."

"Why? When you could be getting room and board for free at the school?"

"It'll save them de trouble of having to kick me out later," he joked. "Y'know de woman who raised me is a healer, like you. She would like you, I think. You're bot' no-nonsense types."

"Send me your address," she told him. "I'll swing by this afternoon."

"_D'accord_," he told her. "You'll have t'yell up at my window. De intercom is broke. I'll leave it open."

"All right, see you-," she began. But he'd all ready hung up on her again.

When Cecelia arrived at his apartment she found him leaning out his window looking for her. "Enh, Juliet. We've got our roles reversed," he called down.

"Buzz me in," she called back.

Cecelia encountered a woman with three poorly trained dogs in the lobby. When one of the dogs used a potted plant as its toilet, Cecelia informed her she needed to clean up after it. The woman was not pleased. Cecelia probably could have used a more pleasant tone of voice. She took the elevator up to Remy's floor and found his door open. His apartment was largely empty.

"Did you just move in?" she asked, looking around the room.

"No," he said. "I just live a spartan lifestyle. Maybe it needs a woman's touch to fix up de place? I'm not good at that kind of thing."

"Obviously," she said, looking at his clothing. "That's some shirt. Are you color blind? It's very...pink."

Remy looked down at his shirt. "What's wrong wit' it?" he asked. "And dis ain't pink, it's mauve."

Cecelia shook her head. "I don't understand how such an attractive man could dress himself so poorly."

"It was on sale," Remy told her.

"I can't imagine why," she said. "Between this mauve number and Robert Drake's crazy Hawaiian shirts, I don't know which is worse. Where is Laura?"

"Out and about," he said. "Hangin' with a friend."

"That's good," Cecelia said. "Though you look a little lopsided without your sidekick."

"I don't have a sidekick, I _am_ de sidekick," he smiled. "I'm just here to make de heroes look good."

She returned his ironic smile. "Here's the articles I found," she said handing him a file folder.

"Thanks," he said, taking them from her. He flipped through the pages. "Ooh, big words."

"I can help you out if you need clarification," she said. "What makes you interested in BPD?"

"Do you know anyone wit' borderline personality disorder?" he asked, tucking the file folder in between two books on a bookshelf. "Besides me, I mean."

It took several moments before Cecelia could process his words. "No," she said slowly. "But there might be someone in our psychiatric department who could help you out. Why are you telling me this?"

"I thought we were being blunt wit' one another?" he asked. "And I figured you couldn't think anything less of me, so why not?"

"Do you always phrase your answers in the form of a question?" she asked. "You'd be great on _Jeopardy_."

He looked at her blankly. "I don't...know?" he answered. "Are you hungry? It's near dinner time."

"I could eat," she said. "But we'll have to go someplace dark."

"'Cause you don't want t'be seen wit' me?"

"No, I don't want to be seen with your shirt," she corrected him.

A few days later she called him again. "Hello...Remy?"

"You should know who you're callin'," Remy told her.

She sighed loudly. "I was calling to tell you that there's a support group at Mercy Medical," she

said. "For people who are bi-polar or have BPD."

"Really?" he asked. He sounded a little disappointed.

"Do you want me to take you?" she asked. "I could introduce you to some people in the department."

He hesitated. "I don't know..." he said.

"You don't want to go?"

"What if I'm de craziest person there?" He sounded nervous.

"Well, if you wear one of those shirts, you'll certainly look the part," she said. It came out meaner than she intended it. She was about to apologize when he laughed.

"I was joking," she said.

"Well, you can make it up to me," he said. "I'll make you sit next to me. I'll wear my worst suit. I've got something in brown and yellow."

"Please, no," she said. "There's a meeting Friday night if you want to go."

"'Cause hanging out wit' a bunch of crazy people is your idea of a good time," he said self-mockingly.

"I don't get out much," she said. "Stop by my place. We can go together."

"I'll have t'drop Laura off first. She's got some babysitting gig," Remy said.

"Seriously?"

"_Oui._ I'm sure it'll go great," he said, his tone very dry.

"So I'll see you Friday?"

"It's a date," he replied and hung up.

He called back later. "I need a second opinion," he said.

"Hel-_lo!_" Cecelia said. "How are you? I'm great, thanks for asking."

"Is there someone else there wit' you?" he asked.

"No, Remy, I'm talking to you. What do you need my opinion for? I can't diagnose you over the phone."

"No, not a medical diagnosis," he said. "It's about my _classroom demeanor_." He put emphasis on the last two words; they clearly were not his usual vocabulary.

"What about it?"

"Kitty says my etiquette is inappropriate," he said. "When kids come ask me stuff, I'm supposed t'talk them on their level. Give 'em guidance in a way dat won't be embarrassing. About sex stuff. So I did."

"What did you say?"

He told her: "Image you're a farmer..." he began. Then followed a long description about working the fields with your hands, proper irrigation, plowing, and wearing protective gear in case of inclement weather. He started talking about buds, flowers, and pollination. "After dat," Remy concluded, "you should have a plentiful harvest. Then you can feel free t'go t'market. You don't want t'go t'market too soon, y'see."

"Well...I can see how Kitty thought that was inappropriate," Cecelia informed him. Her face felt a little hot.

"I don't see what de problem is. Kids are gonna have sex no matter what anyone tells 'em different. I'm just preparing them."

"I happen to agree with you, but the problem lies in your delivery."

"What do you mean?" he asked. "That's how my poppa explained it t'me."

"You can't talk to them in euphemisms and innuendo, Remy," Cecelia said. "Just stick to the facts."

"Well, how would you have put it?"

She told him.

"That sounds _way_ worse than what I said!" he exclaimed. "That sounds downright disgusting."

"It is an accurate and professional description," she said.

"Well, de way you put it, no one is ever goin' to want to have sex again. Problem solved," Remy said, then hung up.

"Goodbye!" Cecelia said into the phone.

Cecelia was consulted several times over the next few weeks. Remy seemed to respect her opinions and take them to heart. She was beginning to look forward to his random phone calls. They were a pleasant diversion from her everyday work. But not today. She was up on the rooftop garden poking around in the dirt when he called her again. Since their earlier talk, Cecelia had gotten the urge to start gardening again. Remy had called her three times in a row that day, not once remembering to say hello or goodbye. She could tell he was getting agitated by the way he spoke. Usually his words ran together in a slow drawl. Today he was firing off words like bullets. Remy was under the impression that his teammates Bobby Drake and Sam Guthrie were making fun of him. He was usually a sport about a little good-natured ribbing, but he clearly felt they disliked him and they were not speaking in jest. There seemed to be some kind of cultural or language barrier between Remy and Bobby in particular. They were both getting on each others' nerves. Cecelia was getting a little irritated with Remy herself.

"Just ignore them," she said, feeling as though she were talking to a child.

"I don't understand half de things he says!" Remy said, annoyed.

"Bobby just thinks he's being funny," Cecelia responded, trying to be calm. "But all his humor is derivative. If he were actually humorous, he'd come up with some original material."

Remy mulled this over. "You're right. Hey! Bobby-!" He hung up the phone.

"Argh!" Cecelia said. She turned off her cell phone. A few hours later, she was sitting on a chair watching the sunset and enjoying the peace and quiet when she realized she'd forgotten to turn the phone back on. She looked at her call history. Remy had phoned her a few more times, but apparently had given up. The calls had stopped an hour ago.

She didn't hear from him for almost a week after that. Cecelia felt that maybe she had hurt his feelings. Then she thought it was his fault for not bothering to learn how to use a phone. Then she started to feel guilty. From what she'd learned about his disorder, he was likely to take her silence as rejection. She was about to call him when he showed up at her offices, a bloody rag wrapped around his hand. She knew something was seriously wrong. When she questioned him, he was evasive.

"Are you a real doctor, or do you just play one on TV?" he said. She knew he was mimicking something he'd heard Bobby say. She knew he rarely watched television, and only then to watch classic movies or old television series.

She could feel a nervous energy coming off of him, battering her shields which reacted involuntarily to external stimulus. She gave him some sedatives, hoping he would calm himself. Cecelia couldn't get the truth from him if she pressed too hard. She'd have to wait until he came forward on his own. She would have to be patient, which wasn't her strong suit.

When he called the next day he sounded aggrieved. He was calling her from a bathroom. In the background, she could hear his sister-in-law yelling at him. No wonder he was distressed. Family drama. It made her feel a little better to know that he was at least surrounded by people who cared about him. A few days after that he phoned again.

"It's my birthday!" he told her. He seemed to be in high spirits.

"Happy birthday, Remy," she said. "How old are you now?"

"Twenty-six," he said. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-nine," she responded. "Same as the year before that."

He laughed. "You shouldn't have tole me dat," he said. "I have a t'ing for older women."

Good lord, his accent had gotten worse, she thought. He suddenly let out a yelp of surprise and someone screamed: "Eighteen! Nineteen!"

"Emil!" Remy shouted. "I'm on de phone!"

"Who are you talking to?" she heard Bobby Drake say.

"Mind your own damn business!" Remy responded.

"You're sounding a little manic, Remy," Cecelia said.

"I've eaten a lot of cake!" he enthused. "And candy!"

"Lay off the hard stuff," Cecelia advised.

"Yes, doctor!" he said, and then hung up.

Cecelia looked at her phone and shook her head with a smile.

When she spoke to him again he had been out running; he was out of breath. He was upbeat, in a goofy mood. It was a little contagious. Apparently, he and Bobby had mended some fences. Things at the school were going well. He was going out with friends. It seemed he'd reached some sort of turning point. That there were other people in his life now that he was turning to, trusting. It took some of the pressure off Cecelia. She only knew two others who were aware of Remy's condition, Xavier and Remy's therapist, Dr. Drumm. Now she could be a little less concerned about him. But she was also a little disappointed she wasn't hearing from him as often.

One afternoon, she was eating her take-out dinner on a bench beside the hospital parking lot. Her shift would start soon. She was cramming food into her mouth when she saw "Unknown" appear on her caller ID.

"You will not believe what just happened," Remy said.

"Huh-lho-," she said around a mouthful of fries.

"Are you busy?" he asked.

She swallowed. "I'm about to go in to work, I won't be off 'til late. Like around three."

"Dat's not too late at all!" he said.

She felt a little thrill when she heard him continue: "Can I see you then? It'll be much better if I tell you in person."

"Sure. I'll be at my apartment," she said. "See you around three-thirty."

"Enh, bien," he said. "I have t'go. I think a potato just exploded."

"Bye, Remy," she said, not expecting an answer.

"A bientôt, Cece. Have a good night at work," he said.

When she saw him that night he told her about the argument he and Bobby had had earlier that day. She asked why Remy hadn't just told Bobby that they'd been phoning one another. He was a little reticent.

"Bobby and Hank are friends," he said. "I don't want it gettin' back to Hank that I'm calling his girl at all hours." They were sitting on her couch. She'd given him a glass of wine when he'd come in. Cecelia was in her pajamas, the nice silk ones, not her usual flannel checkered ones.

Cecelia couldn't say why she felt disappointed. "Won't it be worse if you're caught trying to hide it? It's not as though we're...getting involved."

"I suppose you could be right," he admitted.

Cecelia blamed her nightmare on the fast food she'd eaten and the movie they had been watching when she fell asleep, Cool Hand Luke. She startled awake. She found herself under Remy's arm, pressed against his side. It was nearly dawn by now, and the final scene of the movie was playing out; Luke, mortally wounded and smiling as he was driven away in a police car. Cecelia sat up abruptly.

"_He was smiling... That's right. You know, that...that _Luke_ smile of his. He had it on his face right to the very end. Hell, if they didn't know it 'fore, they could tell right then that they weren't a-gonna beat him. That old Luke smile. Oh, Luke. He was some boy. Cool Hand Luke. Hell, he's a natural-born world-shaker..._" The narrator concluded.

"Sorry," she said, wiping her hand across her face.

He looked at her with concern. "I didn't want t'bother you, you seemed tired."

"Uhm, I'm fine," she said.

"Bad dream?" he asked. He pushed her braided hair back over her shoulder.

"Just...maybe all that fast food is not agreeing with me," she said. She inhaled shakily.

"I should let you get some sleep," he said, moving to stand.

"No," she said a little forcefully and put her hand on his arm. "No," she said again quietly. "Can you just stay?"

He looked at her with a puzzled expression. "If you need me too, chere. What's got you rattled, enh?"

She rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms a few times. "I was in prison," she said.

"In your dream?" he asked.

"No...well, yes, in my dream too. But also in real life. At Neverland, that concentration camp...I was a prisoner there. It gives me bad dreams sometimes."

"Is it something you want t'talk to about?" Remy asked.

Cecelia felt her throat tighten. When he put his arm around her again she began to cry. "I think you're be the only person I could talk to about it," she said through her tears. "You might be the only person who could understand. Who wouldn't judge me."

"I'd never," he said. "Tell me what you need to."

* * *

><p><em>This might be my favorite chapter of Part II. I don't know why, but it is. It begins around X-23 #13-#17...I've worked it in to tell what was going on with Gambit while X-23 was off fighting dragons or whatever. <em>

_Next time: Two perspectives on one very broken relationship._


	26. Somebody I Used To Know

_You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness  
>Like resignation to the end,<br>Always the end  
>So when we found that we could not make sense,<br>Well you said that we would still be friends  
>But I'll admit that I was glad that it was over<br>But you didn't have to cut me off  
>Make out like it never happened and that now we're nothing<br>And I don't even need your love,  
>But you treat me like a stranger, and that feels so rough<br>No you didn't have to stoop so low,  
>Have your friends collect your records and then change your number,<br>I guess that I don't need that though  
>Now you're just somebody that I used to know<br>_-Somebody I Used to Know, Gotye

Rogue still had Destiny's letter, the loose pages, and the diary in her possession. She had spent some time with these items over the last several weeks since she wasn't able to press Remy into keeping them. She didn't understand why he wouldn't want the only thing that gave him a connection to a brother he never knew. But he wouldn't even look at it; he insisted the diary was meaningless. Remy told Rogue to keep it since it belonged to Destiny and Rogue was more her child than Remy ever was. Rogue wondered if he felt bitterness towards her. When she asked if he'd like to go through the pages with her, he told her he'd rather destroy them as he had the other diaries; the ones he'd burned to a cinder to keep them from falling into the wrong hands. As far as Rogue knew, this was the last of Destiny's writings. Rogue wondered if this diary had gone so long undiscovered because it was rendered irrelevant by its protagonist's death.

Remy would eventually come to her to talk, so Rogue believed. She was used to having him dog her heels, no matter how many times she'd put him off, avoided him, or gave him the cold shoulder. She'd even gone so far as to put it bluntly, to tell him to leave her alone, only to have him turn up later like a bad penny.

To be honest, it was his open need for her that was frightening. His love for her was the only thing that she could be certain of about him. She was intimidated by how much he wanted her. She would never need him as much as he needed her. Rogue didn't ever want to need anyone that much. That Remy could rationalize or sacrifice just about anything for Rogue was troubling, not flattering. He asked for a commitment from her, but it would have meant giving away too much of herself. It was a relief when he ended their relationship. He had told her that she should come to him when she was ready, that it was all on her now. So it was best not to approach him first in case he took it the wrong way.

It was difficult to let things stand as they were with her having the diary and him having so few answers about his brother and about Destiny. She was still waiting weeks later, wondering when he would seek her out. But as days went by, she found they rarely spoke to one another outside of the classroom. Rogue could never catch him alone. She'd find him competing with Joanna on who could come up with the most outrageous thing to say, rejoinders flying between them like bullets fired from a gun. He would be with Bobby and they would either be egging one another on or bickering like a couple of school boys. If Remy wasn't on the phone, he was out running with that dog, or getting himself into trouble with Logan. He'd also engaged in a campaign to convince one of their younger students, Idie Okonkwo, that mutants weren't evil monsters and that Remy was not the personification of the devil himself. He was making limited inroads with the girl. All other times, Remy simply vanished.

Rogue hated having the questions the diary raised hanging over her head. So many questions. Destiny chose to make her home not more than two-hours' drive from New Orleans. Was that the reason Mystique had happened upon Rogue in Caldecott County, Mississippi? Or did Destiny purposely seek Rogue out because of the vision she had involving the son she bore? Did Destiny know all along that Rogue was meant to meet this Rafael? Was Destiny meant to bring her surrogate son and adopted daughter together, or were they meant to meet later, as X-Men? The diary was not entirely forthcoming with answers. She could not determine where the loose pages fit into the book.

She held one of the loose pages now, the one of her and the man who in every way other than name resembled Remy LeBeau. The woman in the image was not dissimilar in age as Rogue was now. If Destiny's prophecy had come true, would she by now be a wife? A mother? What did that mean for her future now? Did she even want what was drawn on this page?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her office door. When it opened she was glad to see Magnus there. At first she'd entertained the idea of talking to Logan about the diary and her troubled thoughts. But since returning to New York, Remy had gone out of his way to antagonize Logan. Any time anyone might voice concerns or express their sympathy, Remy would do something completely irritating or ridiculous. Logan in particular seemed to be bearing the brunt of Remy's childish misbehavior. So she couldn't very well bother Logan with yet more issues. But there was another whose opinions she valued.

"Ah'm glad t'see you," she said, standing from her office chair. She crossed the room to meet him.

"I was glad you to hear from you," Magnus replied, stepping into her office. "I apologize. I was...delayed."

"Ah've lost track of the time," she said, glancing at the clock over the door. "Thanks for comin' all this way. Ah couldn't do this over the phone. Ah needed t'see you face-to-face."

"That sounds ominous," he replied. He put his hands on her shoulders. "But I am pleased to answer your summons." He smiled down at her.

She rested her forehead against his chest for a moment and then drew back. "Rachel says Ah over think things too much," she said. "But whenever Ah rush into decisions they tend to blow up in mah face."

"Is there some decision you've come to, then?" he asked.

Rogue shook her head. "Ah-no, but that's why Ah called you. I needed someone t'talk to. Ah've got so many questions. About the future."

"And you thought to consult me?" he said a little teasing. "I am certainly flattered. Though the fact you seem troubled does not bode well."

She put her hands over his. "One of Destiny's diaries turned up," she said finally. "Maybe the last."

Magnus waited. "And it concerns you?"

Rogue drew a breath and returned to her desk. She picked up the diary. "Me, and a bunch of people. You're in it, too."

"Is that so?"

She flipped through the pages towards the center of the book. She held out the diary to him. The image showed Magneto facing off against the diary's main subject, Rafael. Magnus regarded it a moment. "It's a fair likeness of me," he said.

"Spoiler alert," Rogue said dryly. "It doesn't end so good for you."

Magnus took the book from her hands and turned to the next page. "This appears to be Gambit," he said, a wry twist in the corner of his mouth. "It seems he has advanced from tennis balls to a more sophisticated means of assault."

Rogue looked at Magnus' expression, so dismissive of the images on the pages. "It only appears to be Gambit," she said.

Magnus' eyes flicked to her face. "Not Gambit? A clone then?"

Rogue shook her head. "A brother. A twin."

"And where is this-twin now?" Magnus asked.

"Dead," Rogue replied. "He died, though Ah don't know how or why."

"It seems like that is for the best," Magnus said, flipping to earlier pages of the diary. There was a drawing of Cyclops killing the External Candra, who was according to the diary, Rafael's adopted mother. The following page portrayed Rafael murdering the Phoenix in retaliation and engaging the X-Men in battle.

Rogue took the loose pages from the back of the diary. "Maybe so, maybe no," she said showing him one of the pages. Rafael was now pitted against Sinister. Sinister lay on his back, seeming to melt into the paper. Rafael, like an avenging angel, was delivering what appeared to be a fatal blow with a burning spear.

Magnus regarded the drawing for several long moments. "It appears that this twin was to be Sinister's undoing. Gambit doesn't have this kind of power."

"No," she said. "Not anymore. Sinister took him down a notch or two...or ten."

"Could Sinister have known this prophecy?" Magnus asked.

"Mah guess is yes," Rogue answered. "Because since when is Sinister interested in takin' a mutant's powers? Especially a powerful mutant? Unless he was a threat."

"A pity we might not have had this twin on hand a few weeks ago," Magnus said. "Instead of the brother."

"Please don't talk like that," Rogue said, holding the loose pages in her hands. She flipped through them and pulled out the drawing she'd been so preoccupied with. "Ah know there's no love lost between the two of you. But there's been so much between Remy and me, Ah can't ignore it. Part of me still cares for him." She held out the drawing to Magnus.

Magnus looked at the drawing portraying Rogue with Remy's doppelganger and the two children. "I see," he said finally. "You should consider yourself fortunate, Anna, to be given the opportunity to determine your own future and weigh the alternatives."

"Just goes t'show, nothin's a certainty," she replied. "Especially when it comes to Destiny's prophecies."

"Would you have wanted it to be?" Magnus asked. "He's deranged, you know."

Rogue's head jerked as if his words had struck her. "Remy? He's-not deranged," she said, searching his expression. "He's got some kind of disorder."

"Gambit is a lunatic," Magnus told her. "Charles was willing to turn a blind eye, but then he would be sympathetic to someone like him. I could tolerate Gambit's presence as long as Charles was there to monitor the situation."

"How-how do you know about this?" Rogue asked. "Did Emma tell you?"

"Emma is aware?" Magnus mused.

"She might have treated Remy," Rogue said. "She might have pushed him too hard, too fast."

"She is more likely to choose a hammer over a more precise tool," he observed. "Though it seems a scalpel was not a solution either."

"But then how did you come t'find out?" she asked.

Magnus considered his answer. "Some years ago there was a mutant-related incident at a facility out west. An explosion. I went to investigate. Several people had been killed, many others injured. Those closest to the detonation were incinerated. They were the fortunate ones. Others were severely burned only to perish later, their internal organs boiled inside their bodies. The entire facility was irradiated."

Rogue was silent and felt dread building in the pit of her stomach.

"The mutant in question was gone, apparently he had eradicated himself. I was able to uncover a name and a description of the patient in the hospital records. Imagine my surprise when the mutant matching the description should appear amongst the ranks of the X-Men not two years later."

Rogue swallowed dryly.

"There was also the matter of the physician treating this patient. He had also vanished in the explosion. A Doctor Robert Windsor."

"Sounds familiar," Rogue said quietly.

"One of Sinister's aliases. It was not difficult to draw a connection from there. Though now it seems that Destiny is part of the mix," Magnus had turned to the first page. "This has other implications."

Rogue knew the first image. It was of Destiny herself looking down at the infants she held in either arm. The image was framed by four lengths of a double-helix of DNA. In the background was a sort of corridor leading into an unforeseen distance. The corridor walls were lined with small cubicles, like little cells of a beehive, each one bearing a tiny figure of an unborn infant.

"And I know you are aware of Destiny's link to Sinister. Their shared involvement-."

"Ah know," Rogue admitted. She wished she didn't. She didn't want to know what that might mean for Remy.

"Then you should know that this-person," he said handing her the diary, "is not meant to be. And as for Gambit, you of all people should know what is inside that man's mind."

"Y'picked a hellava way t'let me in on that, Magnus," Rogue said haltingly. "It didn't necessarily speak well t'your character what you did to me, when you forced me t'absorb his thoughts."

"We had differing viewpoints then," Magnus answered.

"Has that changed so much?" she asked, folding her arms around herself.

"I had thought we'd come to a certain level of accord," he said. "We do not have to be in perfect agreement, Anna. We instead can complement and temper one another's views."

Rogue regarded him solemnly for a few moments before turning away. "And you're so willing to compromise now?" she asked.

"Are you?"

Rogue was silent.

"Then we are not so dissimilar after all," Magnus said. "I confess I had hoped this conversation would go in a different direction entirely. But then, I couldn't have guessed your thoughts."

"No," Rogue admitted. "That's one thing y'didn't know."

"I'd hoped you had come to some sort of conclusion. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Anna. Your introspection. I've given you time, and plenty of it. But I am a decisive man; I do not care for ambiguity. I came to make my feelings for you clear, and wanted you to do the same."

"Ah think things are more confused than before," Rogue said.

"At least as far as Gambit or whoever this person is concerned, you need not trouble yourself," he said, gesturing to the diary. "This man is a bomb waiting to go off. It is one thing to have him under Charles' care, quite another to leave him in a powder keg situation. You claim to care for the children at this institution. Would you risk their lives?"

"And what exactly do you propose Ah do?" Rogue asked.

"My suggestion would be to return him to Utopia where he can be with the other deranged inmates."

"Ah told you, he's not-," Rogue began.

"This will be another moment where we will agree to disagree," Magnus interrupted. "I believe in time you will come to realize the truth…only it will be a hard lesson to learn."

* * *

><p>Remy walked like a man bound for the gallows. It was the same thing every Thursday, the hour he dreaded. He'd like to be able to manipulate time, and make it so 4:30 would never come. He looked at his cell phone. He still had fifteen minutes, twenty-five if he counted the ten minute buffer between the time he was supposed to call his therapist and the time that Dr. Drumm would invariably call him to be sure he hadn't forgotten that they had an appointment. No, Remy didn't forget, but these talks exhausted him in a way that being chased for ten miles by Wolverine did not.<p>

He'd taken the stairs rather than the elevator, Rothko padding patiently along beside him. Once he dragged himself to his floor, he found people in the corridor leading to his apartment. Two men were moving boxes out of his neighbor's apartment. Vernon's door was open, so Remy looked in before passing. Vernon was standing in his soon to be empty apartment.

"'Lo, Vernon," Remy said, perplexed. "What's goin' on?"

Vernon sighed. "I was hoping to be gone before you got back," he said. "I hate goodbyes."

"Goodbye?" Remy asked, stepping around a cardboard box. Rothko followed, peering around boxes and corners, looking for his playmate, Abbie. "Where are you going?"

"To the home," Vernon replied, stuffing his hands into his sweater pockets.

"You bought a house? That's good. You'll have a yard for Abbie then," Remy said.

"No, not a house. The old folks home, or 'retirement villa' or whatever they're calling it," Vernon groused. "Where they stick people who've outlived their usefulness."

Remy frowned at him. "Why would you go there?" Remy asked. "I'm right next door-."

"I can't be living in an apartment by myself," Vernon answered. "I'm an old man. What if the elevator went out? I couldn't take those stairs. It's ridiculous. No, the only reason I stayed as long as I did was because of Abbie."

"Well, what are you gone do with her now?" Remy asked.

"Ah, Remy, the girl up and died on me," Vernon answered.

Remy was struck dumb for a moment. "But she was fine just de other day," he said finally.

"She must've gotten into something she shouldn't have. Maybe at the dog park? I don't know," Vernon said, looking down at Rothko who was now seated in front of him. "You'd best watch out for Rothko. People leaving poison out for dogs...who'd do such a thing?"

Remy felt ill at ease. "I dunno," he answered.

A voice called from the open door. "You ready to go, dad?" a man said.

Remy turned to see a man just older than himself standing in the doorway. Remy took in the man's clothes, took in the make of vehicle the man drove by the keys in his hand. He glanced back up at the man's face. The son must have resembled his mother, because he looked little like Vernon. Remy frowned at him.

"I guess so," Vernon said, taking one last look around the room. "Be a good boy," he told Rothko and patted the dog's head.

"Vernon," Remy said, and the older man took Remy's hand. "Don't look so grim. On de bright side, I'm sure there's plenty of single ladies where you're goin'."

"Bunch of blue-haired old biddies," Vernon complained, but smiled.

"I like older women," Remy told him. "More experience. Maybe you could find me a nice gal. One who cooks, if you're able."

"You come on down and pick one out yourself," Vernon told him.

"I 'spect I'll be seein' you soon, then," Remy said.

When Remy's former neighbor and his son departed, Remy returned to his own apartment. He looked at the time again. Four more minutes, fourteen with the buffer. Once inside he made his way to the kitchen counter and pulled out the small memo pad he kept in his coat pocket. He was supposed to be writing things down, the things that bothered him. Remy was drawing the line at keeping a dream journal; this was bad enough. Putting these things on paper seemed too much like complaining, and Remy didn't like to complain. He flipped open the notepad. Under the line: "Magneto out to get me / rational paranoia - or - BPD paranoia? Discuss." he wrote: "Vernon's dog died." Why should that bother him? For one, no matter how much he liked having Rothko around, a dog was a dog. Remy all ready felt guilty that his dog ate and lived better than some people he knew. People, family members even, had died, though he'd been given plenty of time to come to terms with his grief. Why should his neighbor's dog dying bother him so much?

Remy's phone was sitting on the countertop. Now there was only two minutes. Why couldn't he just call and get it over with? Why did he make things harder than they had to be? Pick up the stupid phone, he told himself.

Jericho Drumm had a way of steering conversations in directions Remy would rather not go. He would never tell Remy what to do, but forced him to draw his own conclusions. Remy hated the process of being lead to those conclusions, like the one that led him to break it off with Rogue. That conversation with Drumm was particularly painful.

"Rogue once told me that I was a snake charmer," Remy observed. He wasn't entirely sure why this of all things had stuck in his mind. "She said I was about as close to Prince Charming as she was gonna get."

Drumm was silent for a moment. That usually meant something bad was coming. "What do you think she meant when she said that?" he asked.

Remy was hating this conversation more than most. "I guess I figure I didn't live up to her expectations."

"She called you a charmer," Drumm responded. "Seems like she knew what she was getting herself into."

"I doubt it," Remy said. "I wasn't exactly forthcoming."

"So you were pretending to be her so-called Prince Charming?" Drumm asked.

"I dunno. Mebbe," Remy said. "I guess it all started 'cause I wanted a girl with sad eyes t'smile at me. I've a knack wit' sad girls."

Drumm said nothing.

"Y'know. Show 'em a good time. Make 'em feel good, special-like. I can do that. Then send 'em on their merry way," Remy explained.

"How does that make you feel?" Drumm asked.

Remy hated these kinds of questions. "Good, I guess."

"You must have a reason," Drumm said. "For pursuing these 'sad girls.'"

"How do you say it? I'm not Mister Right, just Mister Right Now." He let himself smile, hoping that it would reach the tone of his voice. "Everything is just temporary anyhow. I never thought it'd play out. Then I come t'like her relyin' on me. I liked bein' there for her."

It got worse after that. Drumm wanted him to talk about dependence and constancy. Instances where Remy might have felt he'd failed someone who'd relied on him. He wasn't going to be taken down that path.

"I thought we were talkin' about me bein' so charming," Remy said.

"We were talking about expectations," Drumm said.

"Ugh," Remy said. "Is my hour over yet?"

"You felt you'd fallen short of Rogue's expectations. That she was hoping for something, but would accept a 'snake charmer' instead."

"So I guess she'd just make do wit' me," Remy heard himself say, even though he was trying not to think it. "When she felt what she really wanted was out of reach."

After a pause, Drumm asked: "Is that something you're willing to settle for?"

"Beggars can't be choosers," Remy said self-mockingly.

"When you say things like that you're allowing your illness control you. You're giving yourself an excuse to not make an effort."

"I'll be happy just t'be good _enough_," Remy replied. "Better'n de alternative."

Drumm never addressed Remy's flippancy, he simply ignored it. "No one is good or evil, Remy."

"You haven't seen what I've seen," Remy told him. "Or done what I done."

"No person is evil, that's just a word we use to dehumanize others to rationalize the evil things they do. No one wants to believe that another human being could hurt, torture, or be so cruel to another."

"Well, lucky for you, I'm not feeling particularly evil at de moment," Remy said. "Otherwise, you'd be in big trouble."

"You still perceive yourself as undeserving of love. You're willing to compromise your own happiness and be the person someone settles for," Drumm said.

"And what d'you suppose I deserve?" Remy said.

"What do you want for yourself?" Drumm asked.

"Another try," Remy said, the sensation of being drained crept over him. Drumm might be some kind of psychic vampire.

"You're willing to settle for less than you deserve. Is that fair to yourself? Is it fair to Rogue either? Don't you want to be the best person you could be?"

When Drumm put it that way, Remy could rationalize breaking it off with her, even though he'd rather have lopped off his own left arm. He was used to settling, but he couldn't force Rogue to settle for less. That would be selfish. She was only letting Remy hang on to her out of some sense of obligation. He'd been there for her all the time she couldn't control her powers, she hated to look like the "bad guy." He didn't want her to feel trapped. So he let her go even though he knew she'd go to another man.

That didn't matter at first. If Rogue was just going to Magneto for sex, it didn't really bother Remy. He wasn't going to begrudge a woman who'd never had the freedom to touch a chance to find out what she liked. What was painful was when Rogue began seeking Magneto out for more. She valued Magneto's opinion in a way she never valued Remy's. She listened to what Magneto had to say, but didn't take Remy's words into consideration. Remy supposed that was the breaking point, when he realized Rogue would never respect him; now he knew she felt the words he said to her were meaningless.

Remy continued to stare at his phone, feeling vaguely nauseated. Same damn thing every week. Pick it up, just pick it up and call, he thought. His right hand closed down on the phone. Fumbling a bit, he managed to unlock it, press the dial button.

"Hello?"

"It's me," Remy said.

"And only twenty seconds left to spare," Dr. Drumm said. "I'm impressed. What have you got on your list this week?"

"My neighbor's dog died," Remy said. "And then his ungrateful, rat-bastard son sent him away."

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: Sorry, another chapter full of talking. Two very important things happened in it though that will have an impact later on, so I hope you were paying attention. Next chapter, very little dialogue and something blows up, I promise.<em>

_Next time: One hot night in Madripoor! Commence flashback sequence...in three...two...one..._


	27. Criminal

_Heaven help me for the way I am  
>Save me from these evil deeds before I get them done<br>I know tomorrow brings the consequence at hand  
>But I keep livin' this day like the next will never come<br>Oh, help me but don't tell me to deny it  
>I've got to cleanse myself of all these lies 'til I'm good enough for him<br>I got a lot to lose, and I'm bettin' high so I'm beggin' you  
>Before it ends, just tell me where to begin<br>_-Criminal, Fiona Apple

There was a time that Gambit simply did not care about anything or anyone, must less himself. He haunted his own life like a ghost. There were times he questioned his own existence and if he was really alive at all. There was the feeling of abandonment when he thought about his father Jean-Luc, who'd twice sent him away. It was Candra's dissolution with the world around her, her complete lack of sympathy and morality that lead Gambit down this path. It wasn't until Frenzy came along that the world had snapped back into focus. But by then, the damage had all ready been done. He had not once bothered to consider that the woman might have had feelings. She was a means to an end, a way to get himself out from under Candra's paw. He'd hoped Candra would be angry enough to set him free, but that didn't happen until months later. The thought never crossed Gambit's mind that Frenzy might actually know pain or happiness, and that disturbed him. His total lack of empathy, that was a true mark of a psychopath.

After Candra had released him, he was left adrift in the world. He needed a compass, a guide, something to measure himself against. As a thief, he knew he was closer to the sinners than the saints, so he found himself amongst the very dregs of society. He could compare himself to them like a reflection in a mirror, so he could better gauge his own nature. He would observe them for awhile, see the horrible things they did, and tell himself: well, I wouldn't do that at the very least. Some of the worst society had to offer were mutants, like Gambit himself. He wondered if it was the fact that they were mutants that made them monsters. As the devil's own son, he felt like he should have fit in well.

He could have returned to New Orleans after Candra. But Gambit was sick of being a commodity, bought and sold and traded like livestock. He was tired of being what other people wanted him to be when he didn't even know himself. Life outside the structure of the Guild was different. At first, he wasn't sure what to do; he was directionless. Endless possibilities stretched out before him. Instead of feeling intimidated, he ran out to meet them. After all, what did he have to lose? Everything in the world was brand new and just for him, like Christmas Day everyday. He had nothing of his own and everything to gain.

Gambit traveled to six of the seven continents, saw dozens of different countries, countless cities. No matter where he went, he was always a stranger, always different from everyone else, but he was used to that. It wasn't until he ended up in Madripoor that he felt a taste of the familiar. It was a topsy-turvy town that reminded him of New Orleans, full of misfits, with a certain disregard for the law, and the possibility of plenty good times. Gambit could disappear into the crowd because he fit in so well here. He kept a low profile for several weeks. He wanted to get a measure of the place and see what it had to offer. Gambit soon found something Madripoor had that he hadn't realized he was looking for...a chance to settle a score.

There was a rumor circulating about a certain mercenary hanging around town, a beast of a man with long claws and sharp teeth. Someone Gambit had run into a little over two years ago now. Someone he was not likely to forget in a hurry. Gambit began to let himself be known around town. There was carousing, and fighting, and drinking, and girls; lots and lots of girls. He knew all their names before long. He loved to show them a good time, and they knew he was always good for it. Gambit always left them happy with a smile on their faces. Who knew when he'd run into one of them later? If they met again, it was better to get a kiss on the lips than a slap in the face. Gambit made sure he was seen. Let the murderer think Gambit was the same idiot he'd met in Paris two years ago.

For the first time ever, Gambit found himself gainfully employed. With an actual paying job, just like _un Autre_. He didn't mind the work, but he knew he'd have to quit soon. Being a night janitor seriously put a crimp in his social life. He worked in a large office building in Hightown. He worked there long after the businessmen and women had gone for the day; pushing mops around, emptying waste bins, hacking into computers. One night he was cleaning windows, soaping up the glass and then squeegeeing it dry. He swiped the foam mop over the glass, then flipped the squeegee over and dragged the rubber through the suds. Squeaky clean, he thought, as his reflection was revealed. His eyes caught the silhouette of another figure reflected in the glass; one standing several feet behind him.

Gambit turned with a gasp catching his throat. The murderer stood in the open office doorway, lit from behind by the dim hall light. The man almost filled the entire opening. Gambit could see the murderer's eyes glinting in the darkness.

"Looks like you quit yer night job," Sabretooth said. "For somethin' more to suited to yer talents."

Gambit let the squeegee drop from his hand. His other hand shook as it reached for the cigarette he held in his lips. Gambit exhaled a plume of smoke, to disguise the scent of fear. Or rather, to mask the fear he did not feel. He dropped the smoking butt onto the janitorial cart.

Gambit was confident in his abilities. As a thief, he had tested himself, pushed every boundary, broke every rule he'd come to know as a Guild Thief and still come out on top. From the Guild, he also knew how to defend himself, to dodge, evade, to get himself out of tight places unscathed. Trained by S.H.I.E.L.D., Gambit had handled every kind of weapon, learned how to fight offensively, to plan and strategize. And under Candra's direction, he had become quite proficient with his mutant abilities, as long as he kept a cool head. Not once did he question whether or not he could take Sabretooth. This monster was going down, down in flames.

Sabretooth was circling now, moving forward across the room towards Gambit. Gambit backed away, keeping the cart bearing the cleaning supplies in between himself and the monster. Sabretooth was forcing Gambit away from the window so that his back now faced the open doorway.

"Here's your chance to make a getaway, punk," Sabretooth said. "There's the door. Get ready to run. I'm gonna enjoy huntin' you down. I like t'work for my meals."

Gambit swallowed, turned his expression to one of panic. With a startled cry, he kicked the cleaning cart, sending it trundling forward towards Sabretooth. The man caught it and the cleaning products shifted forward on top of the cart. Sabretooth grinned maliciously. Gambit reached up and pulled the mask he wore to avoid the fumes from the cleaning products over his nose and mouth.

Sabretooth chuckled. Gambit closed his eyes, but not before seeing the mocking grin on Sabretooth's face begin to fade as the cart began to glow with bright white-yellow light.

_Three...two...one_...Gambit thought.

When the cart exploded it propelled Sabretooth through the window and out into the night air. He plummeted, limbs pinwheeling, clothes and fur blazing, twenty stories to the ground below. Gambit felt the glow of light on his eyelids, felt its intense heat on his skin, felt the blast whip through his clothing and hair. He reveled in its power. When all fell silent, Gambit walked over shattered glass and broken debris to the smashed window and looked down. Sabretooth lay on the broken concrete, his body still in flames. Gambit saw him move and knew he lived yet. Good, Gambit thought, he should suffer.

From his pocket he withdrew a playing card, the Queen of Diamonds. He looked up at the stars.

"When I see you again, Genevieve," he said, "you'll have my regrets...my apology. Until then, _mon etoile_..." He let the card drop from his fingers to flutter off into the night.

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: You'll have to go waaaay back to X-Men #33 (published in 1994) if you've forgotten who Genevieve is.<em>

_Queen of Diamonds: Wealth, material possessions, generosity. What card will Remy give away next?_

_Next time: Bobby and Remy make a bet and Rogue corners Remy. No one puts Remy in the corner.  
><em>


	28. Please Be Patient With Me

How can I warn you when my tongue turns to dust  
>Like we've discussed<br>It doesn't mean that I don't care  
>It means I'm partially there<br>You're gonna need to be patient with me  
>-Please Be Patient With Me, Wilco<p>

"Are you going to drink that beer, or just keep making out with it?" Bobby asked.

Remy frowned at him. "Someone needs t'be de responsible one and drive you home," he responded.

"C'mon, Remy! The night is young!" Bobby said. They were in the local tavern in Salem Center, sitting at a table towards the back in the dim light. "Oh wait, is this the the night you sneak off and do something mysterious?"

Remy nursed his beer.

"She must be pretty ugly if you're keeping her this big secret," Bobby said.

Remy slammed down his half empty pint glass. "She is not," he said.

"Ah-_HA_!" Bobby said, pointing at Remy. "I knew it! You _are_ seeing someone!"

"If you had a girl of your own, you wouldn't be so preoccupied wit' what I do of an evening," Remy said. "Why didn't you ask someone else t'come out wit' you?"

"For your information, I did ask someone out," Bobby said.

"And?"

"Well, she said she was busy tonight, but maybe sometime next week," Bobby answered.

"Aren't you accommodating?" Remy observed wryly. "Funny, Birdie seemed game for just about anything."

Bobby slouched in his seat. "I didn't ask Bird-er, Warbird."

Their waitress came over to their table and put down a second beer in front of Bobby. "Can I get anything for you, hun?" she asked Remy.

"I'm good, _chere_," Remy said. "Thanks."

Bobby looked at his beer and sighed. He went to pick it up.

"Is that even the beer you ordered?" Remy asked, pointing.

"Well, it's close," Bobby said.

"That's a stout, you asked for a lager."

"It's fine," Bobby replied.

"It's not even de same color!" Remy said exasperated. "There's such a thing as being too accommodating. You should've said something."

"She was too busy staring at you," Bobby said.

"Oh, so this is now my fault?" Remy asked. "Why don't you just tell her what you want?"

"Will you drop it?"

"Stop being such a-a people pleaser!" Remy said.

"What's wrong with being a people pleaser?" Bobby asked. "I get along with everyone. Everybody's happy."

"'Cept for you," Remy said. "You let people take advantage of you all de time, because you don't want to disappoint anyone. So you never get t'do what you want t'do."

"I happen to like being the person people rely on," Bobby informed him.

Remy waved his hand as if to disperse an odor. "They rely on you to never say 'no'...which is why you end up chaperoning two-dozen kids to de planetarium."

"Hey...the planetarium is cool...kinda," Bobby said weakly.

Remy fixed him with a skeptical look. "And why you take on all Kitty's lunch preps in de cafeteria-."

"Kitty has got a lot on her plate, she's very busy!" Bobby said.

"And then you end up on an hours long road trip to N'Orleans-to help out wit' a funeral," Remy continued.

"It's lucky for you I did!" Bobby exclaimed.

"_Who_ got lucky?" Remy grinned.

Bobby looked away. "Will you let that go? Seriously, you're like a dog with a bone."

Remy sat back in his chair. "Hm, Mercy usually has a good measure of people. This is de first time she's ever picked a jerk."

"I'm _not_ a jerk!" Bobby exclaimed. "I'm embarrassed, okay! I don't know what I was thinking-! It just happened!"

"Will you relax?" Remy said. "What is de big deal? So you did something impulsive-for yourself-for once in your life. Was it so horrible? Was anybody hurt?"

Bobby pushed his beer glass away. "Fine. You're right. I should call her. Give me your phone." He held out his hand.

"Wha-no! You're not tricking me. Use your own phone."

"You could just come out with it. Tell the truth for once in your life. Would it be _so horrible_?" he mimicked.

Bobby and Remy stared a challenge at one another.

Quietly, Remy said: "I bet you can't ask that waitress to bring you de beer you actually ordered."

Bobby leaned forward. "I bet you won't tell me who you talk to every day."

"I bet you can't say 'no' to de next person who asks you t'do somethin' you don't wanna do!"

"And you won't tell me what you do every Friday night!"

"All right! That's it!" Remy said, hands on the table. "It's a wager then. I want to see how long you can go without being a people pleasing pushover!"

"And I wager you can't give a simple straight answer to any question!"

Remy considered this a moment. "Tell you what. Let's make dis interestin'."

"Sure," Bobby said, drumming his fingers on the table. "What are the stakes?"

"If you cave, like you always do, when someone asks you t'do somethin', I win."

"And if you don't give a simple answer to a question, any question, then I win. And you take over my lunch shifts for a month," Bobby said.

"I'm only takin' de ones that are _actually_ yours, and not de ones you promised others you'd take over for!" Remy retorted. "And if I win, you clean my apartment every week for three months. I want to live dog-fur free again!"

"How is that a fair wager?" Bobby snapped.

"You only stand t'gain from dis experience, Robert! It's a growth opportunity."

"And what do you suppose you stand to lose by telling the simple truth?" Bobby asked.

Remy's lower lip stuck out a bit. "I have trust issues. I'm a sick man, remember?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Don't think you can suddenly play the sympathy card, Remy," he paused. "Fine. I'll clean your apartment for _six_ weeks. That's what we'll wager."

Remy slapped the tabletop. "Ha! That was so easy...like takin' candy from a baby! I all ready got you t'cave!"

"Hey! We're negotiating here! We haven't shaken on it yet!"

"Okay, okay," Remy said, waving his hands. "Now we'll shake on it."

They shook one another's hands, then Bobby pointed at Remy. "Who do you call all the time?" he fired.

Remy drew back from the table. "A doctor," he hedged.

"Like what kind of doctor? A therapist doctor?"

Remy frowned. "Sometimes..."

"A-ha!"

"Only on Thursdays!" Remy exclaimed. "All other times...I might be talkin' to-Dr. Reyes."

Bobby stared at Remy a moment. "As in: Cecelia Reyes?"

"Yes," Remy admitted.

"Why...?" Bobby said slowly, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Just to talk," Remy said.

"Uh-hunh," Bobby said, disbelievingly.

"I'm not lyin'! We're just friends. She tole me I should've just said earlier, otherwise it looks bad."

"Well, yeah, it kind of does! You know she and Hank are-."

"I'm not messin' wit' no other man's girl," Remy said. "But if they're an item, Hank probably should let Cecelia in on it. None of my business, though."

"So is Cecelia who you go see every Friday?" Bobby asked.

"Sometimes she comes with," Remy said.

"With you where?"

"Are you sure you want t'know? You better be careful what you ask."

"I'm _waiting_...!"

"Mercy Medical," Remy answered. "To a support group for people who...who've got what I've got. Crazy people. Happy you asked now?"

Bobby was silent for a moment. "Oh. Well, good for you." They sat in awkward silence for a moment. Bobby was reaching out to take his beer when he spotted Remy grinning at him.

"Nothin' like a dark malty stout on a hot day," Remy said, with a smirk.

Bobby sighed. "Nice try," he said and then turned to look for the waitress.

* * *

><p>Rogue didn't know which Gambit she might get tonight. It could be the gregarious Gambit, the cocky, smarmy, pour-on-the-charm Gambit that he'd been for several weeks now. She didn't want that Gambit, even though the old her had responded to him in a certain way. That Gambit could turn on you like cat if he felt cornered. Or he could go close-mouthed or mocking and cut you to the quick with his words. She wanted the other Gambit, the one that was vulnerable and introspective, who said thoughtful things. That Gambit usually only showed up after he felt sorry for something he'd done. Rogue wished she could cut out the middle part, where he got all angsty and waspish, and just go straight to sensitive Gambit.<p>

There was one other time she could get him to let down his guard. If he'd had a few drinks in him, he could be sweet and playful, if a little too hands on. She doubted he'd get touchy-feely with her at this point. She thought too if she met him on his home turf where he'd feel safe, she could get him to talk. So she took the diary to his apartment. It was early in the evening, and he likely would not have gone out yet. At his apartment building she once again met up with the woman with the three dogs. She was a middle aged woman with small round glasses and a head full of frizzy graying blonde hair. The woman hesitated when she spotted Rogue.

"I really shouldn't have let you in last time," she said apologetically. "It's against the rules."

"Ah understand," Rogue said. "Ah'm just here t'meet mah friend. He's up on the fourth floor. Ah tried his intercom, but it don't seem t'work."

"Oh...!" the woman said, her face breaking in to a smile. "You mean Rothko's daddy!"

"Uhm, yeah, Ah suppose," Rogue said.

The woman looked at her appraisingly. "Are you his girlfriend?" she asked slyly.

"N-no," Rogue said haltingly.

The woman's smile dropped into an expression of sympathy. "Oh, that's too bad. You're much prettier than that other woman he brings around. So rude, that one!"

Rogue frowned. So, Remy was involved with Joanna, Rogue thought. The rumors were true then. Rogue honestly didn't see what the attraction was. She thought at the very least Remy could pick someone who wasn't on the team so as not to make things awkward for her. And what he saw in Joanna, Rogue couldn't figure out. She was ill-tempered and said inappropriate things. She wasn't very nice. Joanna worked at the school and she didn't even like children. Plus there was the shared history between Remy and Joanna which clearly turned out poorly, so why revisit it? How dumb could he be?

"If you don't mind, could Ah go up and see if he's in?" Rogue asked, though maybe she shouldn't, just in case Joanna was there. That was something she didn't want to see.

"Well, all right..." the woman said, hustling her into the lobby. "Really, you're a very sweet girl. Maybe if you just touched up that bit of hair there," she said, pointing. "And you know, Rothko's daddy is such a nice young man. I misjudged him completely...because-you know-of what he _is_..."

Rogue looked at the woman with a blank expression. "You mean a mutant?" she asked coldly.

The woman flapped her hand. "No, no! Of course not!" She looked around and then hissed at Rogue: "He's _French_! Just goes to show, you can't judge a book by its cover!"

Rogue stared after the woman in bewilderment. "Ah'm just gonna-," she pointed to the elevator.

"A little lipstick wouldn't hurt either, dear!" the woman said as she exited the lobby with her dogs.

Rogue took the elevator up to the fourth floor and stepped into the hallway. She spied the neighbor's door closing suddenly. Nosy neighbor, Rogue thought. She walked to Remy's apartment door and knocked. She was answered by an authoritative bark from the opposite side. She could hear Rothko pacing nervously, his tags jingling. He whined anxiously. So perhaps Remy wasn't home after all.

She took the elevator back down to the lobby. As she exited and turned the corner, she was surprised to see Remy at the brass mailboxes retrieving his mail. He closed the little door and then looked up. He had been smiling to himself for a moment, but the smile snapped off his face the second he saw Rogue. His expression shifted to blank neutrality. Dangit, Rogue thought.

Rogue walked towards him. "Hey, sugah," she said lightly.

"Rogue," he responded. "What are you doin' here? Everythin' okay at de school?"

"Sure, yeah, everything's fine. Ah just hoped t'talk t'you for a second."

Remy took a step back from the wall of mailboxes. He'd spied the diary in Rogue's hand. "Now's not a great time," he said.

"Sure it is!" declared a voice. Rogue suddenly realized that Bobby was leaning up against the wall, hidden behind a potted plant. "This is the perfect time!" Bobby said, throwing his arm over Remy's shoulders.

Remy looked panicked for a moment.

"Go ahead, Rogue!" Bobby said, pointing at Remy's face. "Ask him _anything_! He'll have to tell you the truth!"

"Bobby, how much have you had t'drink?"

Bobby looked offended. "Just a couple of beers!" he said.

"Ah really need t'talk to Remy alone," she said. "If you need a ride, Ah'm parked out front. Why don't you go wait for me there?"

Remy looked at Bobby hopefully, a grin spreading over his face.

"Wha-what?" Bobby said, momentarily dumbstruck. Then he pointed at Rogue. "NO!" he declared loudly.

What in the heck has gotten into these two? Rogue thought.

Rogue looked at Remy and held out the diary. "Remy, Ah just wanted t'return this t'you. Ah hoped we could maybe go through it together..."

Remy looked at the diary as if she'd just handed him a severed head. "I don't think there's anything-," he began.

"Hey!" Bobby said. "You know what that looks like? That looks like one of-."

Remy snatched the diary from Rogue's outstretched hand before Bobby could take it. "Thanks," he said to Rogue, and tucked the diary and his mail under his arm. "Maybe some other time."

Rogue let her arms drop to her sides. "Ah suppose Ah'll be seein' you tomorrow then," she said. "After classes let out."

"I've got somewhere I've got t'be," Remy said.

Rogue opened her mouth, then shut it. "Y'can't avoid me forever," she said finally. "Bobby, you want a ride back to the school?"

Bobby's face was screwed up into a doubtful expression. "No..." he said slowly. "We're watching a movie tonight! _The Princess Bride_! Can you believe he's never seen it?"

Remy rolled his eyes. "C'mon, let's go. Bye, Rogue." He steered Bobby to the elevators.

"Are you sure you don't want to ask him anything?" Bobby called as the doors began to close.

The doors slid shut. Rogue could see Remy staring at her, his expression guarded, unhappy.

"When did y'stop caring for me?" she asked the empty lobby.

* * *

><p>Friday night was date night. Or it had been until a few months ago. This was the first time in awhile Cecelia had actually been on a <em>date<em> date. She was seated across from Hank McCoy at a white-linen draped table, a glass of Pinot Noir by her hand. The restaurant was dim, lit with candles, and should have been perfectly romantic if not for the conversation. Cecelia had her eyes focused on the bowl of her spoon. She picked the spoon up and turned it over, then turned it over again. Hank was talking about an incident at the school. Apparently, his teammate and headmistress of The Jean Grey School had been infected or infested by a race of parasitical aliens called The Brood. Cecelia did not want to hear about this, nor did she want to discuss the ethical implications of destroying the unborn young that had been eating Kitty Pryde from the inside out.

Cecelia's day had not gone well. She considered canceling on Hank, but she'd done that twice in a row and was beginning to feel guilty. This whole discussion brought to mind the young woman who had been brought into the emergency room that day, overdosed on drugs. Both she and her unborn child had died. It was just as well that Cecelia wasn't at the hospital tonight. She needed a distraction that wasn't related to the sick or injured. Remy had sent her a text saying that he was going to his usual meeting, and that he would be fine without her. Someone from the school was going with him. Cecelia had texted him back: _Who?_ He hadn't responded, but by then the meeting would have started. Cecelia hoped it wasn't Rogue who accompanied him.

"You're very quiet this evening," Hank said, breaking into her thoughts.

"Oh?" Cecelia looked up at him. "Sorry. Rogue-I mean, _rough_ day."

"Would you like to talk about it?" Hank asked sympathetically.

"Not really," she said, taking up her wine glass. It was a relief when their food arrived.

"Cecelia," Hank put his hand over her own.

His immense blue-furred hand entirely covered her small one. She looked up into his earnest eyes. She loved him, she really did. She found herself repeating her thoughts aloud. Hank sat with his spine very straight.

"Uh oh," he said with a light smile.

Cecelia turned back to her spoon and pushed it around on the tablecloth. "But I feel like...something's missing. I-don't feel...romantic love. For you. I'm sorry, Hank."

Hank was silent for awhile. She forced herself to look at him. His expression was sad.

"I'm sorry," she said again. Cecelia felt her throat tighten. She couldn't start crying. She took a sip of her wine. When she swallowed she said: "You probably think I'm superficial."

"No," Hank said after a moment. "I know you too well. I know that's not the case."

Cecelia picked up her napkin and twisted it. "I wish I could-feel different. I know you and I-have a lot in common. I respect you so much. I love your kindness." Dammit. She was crying now.

"Shouldn't I be the one in tears?" Hank asked. "Since you're the one breaking up with me?"

She wiped her eyes with the napkin. "I didn't know I'd be breaking my own heart," she said.

* * *

><p><em>Next time: A night with the Living Dead. You'll want to read it with the lights on.<em>

_Note from me: I think there's about eighteen more chapters left and the epilogue. I've got the last chapter all finished, so I have to work my way there. Any predictions? Happy ending? Sad ending? Love? Death? Zombies?_


	29. Two Headed Boy

_Two-headed boy  
>All floating in glass<br>The sun it is past  
>Now it's blacker than black<br>I can hear as you tap on your jar  
>I am listening to hear where you are<br>I am listening to hear where you are  
>Two-headed boy<br>Put on Sunday shoes  
>And dance round the room to accordion keys<br>With the needle that sings in your heart  
>Catching signals that sound in the dark<br>Catching signals that sound in the dark_  
>-Two Headed Boy, Neutral Milk Hotel<p>

He'd been watching the man known as Gambit for some time now, ever since his well-laid plans had fallen through. That another "Death," one of Apocalypse's Horsemen, should exist in the world was an impossibility. Yet here he was walking about in the flesh. It was difficult at first to keep tabs on Gambit though he was for the most part alone, speaking little to the other X-Men even as he remained among them. Then Gambit had done the watcher a favor and separated himself from the X-Men by moving into an apartment. The watcher could then observe the the man's comings and goings without risk of detection by the other X-Men. Gambit still behaved sporadically, appearing and disappearing at random, at all hours of the day and night. Then Gambit left for a week. The watcher used the time to fully explore Gambit's apartment at his leisure. Gambit had little in the way of possessions or items that would give him insight to the man's true nature.

When Gambit returned, he was certainly different. For one, he was now either in the company of his teammate Iceman or the lovely Dr. Cecelia Reyes. He also had a dog, which presented some difficulties. No matter, a bit of raw beef laced with poison would dispatch the animal easily. But then Gambit began taking the dog with him when he left, so the poison was no longer needed. It would be a shame to let it go to waste, and there was another dog nearby. The added bonus was that the apartment next door to Gambit's was now vacant. Gambit also began following a regular schedule. It was amazingly easy to keep track of him now. He would leave with the dog early in the morning, running rain or shine to the school where he would remain for the entire day. He would stay later on Mondays and Wednesdays until after dinner. Thursdays he would always be home by 4:30. Fridays he was with friends before departing until late in the evening. Saturday nights were more often than not spent with Dr. Reyes.

The watcher reentered the apartment to find it changed. Now there were photos on the walls. Photographs of Gambit with the X-Man known as Storm; Gambit with the teenage girl, X-23; Gambit as a boy with two other youngsters, one with red hair, the other blond; Gambit as a teen with a blonde-haired violet-eyed girl, their faces pressed cheek to cheek. It was all very insightful. As was the folder he uncovered with the medical articles and the pills he discovered in the medicine cabinet. The watcher wondered if the medication was an attempt to subvert the Death persona, which had made a startling reappearance.

Gambit would seat himself on the floor, apparently to meditate. A sudden and strange change would occur. At first it was very slight, he still looked very much the same. The watcher became aware that the dog would suddenly shun his master, slinking away to the bedroom. There was also a peculiar odor, like something acrid and burnt that one could detect even without the benefit of heightened senses. Later, physical changes would occur. Black veins appeared from his eyes and lips, his hair became streaked with white. The changes came in various degrees. It was Gambit's behavior that was the definitive sign. Gambit, or Death, would become absorbed with television programming, usually PBS, which he would watch for hours. He consumed copious amounts of candy. He studiously drew with colored pens on blank pieces of paper. Sometimes he paged through books. The watcher began to wonder that he might be dealing with an imbecile the day Death opened up Gambit's laptop, regarded the keyboard and then removed each of the keys. Death replaced them all in alphabetical order and looked at his work with satisfaction.

Death rarely left the apartment, but when he did it was always at night. He avoided people and often disappeared into the forest. The watcher spied Death climbing trees and rocks, splashing in streams, jumping down embankments. One evening, Death was exploring the lake's edge when he spontaneously removed his clothing and wandered into the water. He moved slowly, edging his way deeper and deeper into the lake. Suddenly, he dropped below the surface, only to reemerge spluttering. Death splashed about until he found he could remain afloat. He began doing the dog paddle.

When Gambit regained control of his body, he often seemed bewildered. _So_, the watcher mused, _Gambit and Death were unaware of one another's activities_. The watcher waited and wondered how he might be able to assume control of the situation. This Death was moronic. Perhaps it was due to some accident on Apocalypse's part when he created this particular Horseman. It would be child's play to manipulate this Death. Gambit would unlikely be willing to cooperate, however. The watcher would need some tool, some power, to coerce the man into compliance. The watcher was then given an amazing gift.

One evening, Gambit returned with his companion Iceman in tow. He seemed ill-at-ease as he shoved a book and a stack of mail onto the bookshelf with his medical journal articles. Death did not make an appearance that evening and Gambit retired to his bedroom with the dog, leaving Iceman on the couch where he had fallen asleep. The following day, the watcher reentered the apartment. He recovered the book from the shelf. It was quite revealing. Finally, he had found a a solution to a long standing problem amidst the book's pages. Even better was the posting from New Orleans he found with the stack of mail. The watcher steamed the envelope open to find a carefully worded hand-written letter. As he read, a smile spread across his face. The watcher returned to the bookshelf and glanced once again at the wall of photographs. There was another photo there of a very familiar-looking young girl. He tapped the picture glass thoughtfully.

The watcher returned the letter to the envelope and the book to the shelf. He went into the bathroom and removed the bottle of pills. It would be a simple thing to substitute a placebo. Then the Death persona could take control. He would then have Death as an accomplice, Gambit enslaved to his will, and the genetic material from the woman, BellaDonna, to do with as he pleased. Gambit would be key to allow the watcher to be free to continue his work unimpeded and start anew. How fitting that it would be Gambit to help him to do it.

* * *

><p><em>Next time: A pool party, the past-tense of "smite," and who Gambit wants to get to second base with. Play ball!<em>

_I think I'm just going to start dumping all the chapters I've written. This story is giving me nightmares and I need to be done with it.  
><em>


	30. Perfect Day

_Just a perfect day  
>Problems all left alone<br>Weekenders on our own  
>It's such fun<br>Just a perfect day  
>You made me forget myself<br>I thought I was someone else  
>Someone good<br>Oh, it's such a perfect day  
>I'm glad I spent it with you<br>Oh, such a perfect day  
>You just keep me hanging on<br>You just keep me hanging on_  
>-Perfect Day, Lou Reed<p>

Memorial Day weekend brought perfect weather with plenty of sunshine and warm breezes. The school's outdoor pool was reopened for the season, and just about everyone was outside to enjoy it that Saturday. The only thing that interrupted the otherwise idyllic day was the occasional shrill cry of a whistle followed by Joanna Cargill's shouts of: "No horseplay by the pool!" or: "No more cannonballs, Cannonball!"

Remy was at the pool's edge in the water, his chin resting on his forearms which were folded on the concrete ledge. Bobby was seated in a poolside chair, hiding in the shade of an open umbrella and fanning himself with a magazine.

"I don't see how you can't like _The Princess Bride_," Bobby said. "Do you have no soul?"

"I didn't care for it. For one," Remy said, raising his forefinger, "there was de giant rats. I hate rats."

"R.O.U.S.s," Bobby said. "Rodents Of Unusual Size. And they don't even look like real rats. It's make-believe, Remy."

"Second," Remy said, raising a second finger, "there was de machine that sucks people's life away. I hated that, it gave me nightmares."

"Westley didn't die," Bobby said.

"He mostly did," Remy answered. "It was horrible."

"It's a children's movie! Westley and Princess Buttercup lived happily ever after."

Remy looked at Bobby skeptically.

"I thought you'd like the swashbuckling part," Bobby said.

"I guess that was okay," Remy admitted. There were several female students gathered on the opposite side of the pool. They were looking at their male professors and giggling at the sight of them without their shirts on. Remy turned to look at them and give a little wave. Another flurry of giggles ensued.

"Are you going to get out or not?" Bobby asked.

"Not wit' them staring at me," Remy said. "It's embarrassin'."

"Good thing you didn't wear your Speedo," Bobby said.

"I don't _have_ a Speedo," Remy replied. The girls made disappointed sounds. The male students were giving Remy and Bobby surly looks.

"Don't look now, but I think Julian is trying to murder you by force of will alone," Bobby told him.

"Just you wait. De second that kid graduates, I am goin' t'give him de ass kicking of a lifetime," Remy threatened.

"Too bad we can't send him to S.H.I.E.L.D. bootcamp for awhile," Bobby said.

"As much as I hated my father for sending me there," Remy said, "he was right t'do it. I was sorely in need of a kick in de pants. Some kids can't learn but de hard way."

"Yeah, and you turned out great," Bobby said.

"Do I detect a hint of sarcasm in your tone, Monsieur Drake?" Remy said, then hopped up to sit on the edge of the pool. Idie Okonkwo had appeared from the rear entrance wrapped in an oversized towel. "Hey, girlie!" Remy called to her.

"Remy, leave her alone all ready. You make her nervous," Bobby said.

"Enh,_ petit feu_! I wan' talk to you. C'mere!" Remy said, ignoring Bobby.

Idie hesitantly walked over to where Remy was sitting. "Yes, Professor LeBeau?" she said.

"Enough wit' dat professor stuff, just call me Remy," he told her.

"Mmh," she said noncommittally.

"I wanted t'ask you somethin'," Remy began. "Wondered if you wanted t'come to Mass wit' me tomorrow?"

Idie hugged her towel around her. "I don't-I don't know if that would be appropriate," she said, looking over at Bobby for help.

"Is that inappropriate?" Remy turned to look at Bobby.

"I dunno," Bobby said with a shrug. "I guess not."

Remy grinned at Idie. "So, what do you say? Want to get back into de swing of things?"

Idie looked down at her sandaled feet. "I don't think monsters should enter the Lord's house," she said.

"Monsters! What kinda monster d'you suppose y'are, anyhow?" Remy asked. "_Un loup garou_? Come nighttime, do you howl at de full moon?"

"No!" Idie said, aghast. "I-I was called a witch."

"Why, de woman who raised me up was a witch. And I saw her along t'heaven myself. She had de healin' touch."

"I'm not that kind of witch," Idie said.

"Ah, so you're _un cauchemar_," Remy nodded knowingly. "De nightmare witch what comes in t'men's rooms at night and whips 'em like a haws."

Idie turned pink.

"A hoss?" Bobby asked. "What's a hoss?"

"A haws, a haws!" Remy said, exasperated. "Like what eats hay and goes _neigh_."

"You mean a _horse_?" Bobby asked.

"Whores? I don't know what kinda whores you been seein', Bobby. Watch your mout' around dese impressionable youths."

"I didn't say _whores_!" Bobby exclaimed. Everyone turned to look at him. Idie watched the two men trade words as if she were watching a tennis match.

"'_What we've got here is failure to communicate_'," Remy quoted.

"That sounds familiar, what's that from?" Bobby asked.

"_Cool Hand Luke_," Remy said. "Now _that_ was a good movie."

"Good? Luke spends the entire movie getting the snot beat out of him, only to get shot and die!" Bobby said. "It's depressing!"

"It was de story of a man's indomitable spirit and desire to live on his own terms in de face of extreme adversity," Remy explained. "And I'm not ashamed t'admit that Paul Newman in that movie made me question my own sexual orientation."

"Remy! Over-sharing!" Bobby said.

"You tell me you don't think he's an attractive man and I will tell you you're a liar," Remy observed.

"Not in front of the students!" Bobby exclaimed.

"It's all right, Professor Drake," Idie said. "This conversation has made me realize that Professor LeBeau needs all the prayer he can get. I will be happy to attend Mass with you tomorrow, to pray for your eternal soul."

* * *

><p>Remy had spent some time shopping around for a church he could feel comfortable in. First he had tried one with a diverse crowd. He thought he might be able to blend into the background and go unnoticed. He realized it wasn't going to work out for him the first time he heard someone spontaneously shout out: "Praise Jesus!" which was followed by several loud: "Amens!" The congregants would randomly shout out their feelings when the spirit moved them and then testify their faith. Really, Remy thought, was this a church service or a football game?<p>

The second church wasn't Remy's cup of tea either. The pastor (or preacher or reverend or whatever they called him) was a man younger than Remy was. He was dressed in street clothes and wore a headset and had an electric guitar. People raised their hands skyward with their eyes closed and swayed to the music. Now he seemed to be at a rock concert. The obvious display of faith made Remy uncomfortable. It was like watching someone do something really private, like masturbate, and everyone was joining in.

He returned to the Catholic church. There was one in nearby North Salem, St. John's, which was more modern than Remy would have liked but it was on the lake and peaceful. He preferred the ritual of the service, the familiarity of the hymns, the feeling that everyone there was doing and thinking the same thing at the same time. There was a priest with the appropriate amount of gravitas, the correct amount of salt in his pepper hair, and the authoritative collar. He was somebody who looked like a leader, and not a college student with a five o'clock shadow. When he brought Idie there, he knew she felt the same way.

Remy was seated towards the back of the church. There was still twenty minutes before the service began. Idie emerged from one of the confessional booths and came to stand at the end of Remy's pew. She was wearing a modest white dress that made her look even younger than her fourteen years. She genuflected and slid onto the bench beside him.

"Feel better, _petit feu_?" he asked quietly.

"A little," she said.

"What was de sentencing?" Remy asked.

"One rosary," Idie replied.

"Ouch," Remy said. "Well, you'd best get crackin'. Here, you can borrow mine." He reached into his jacket pocket and dropped the string of beads into her hand. Her fingers closed around the rosary. She stared at him for several moments.

"You still afraid of me, _petite_?" he asked.

"No," she answered.

"Look at us now, de devil and de monster sittin' here in church. And not one of us has got smote...smited?"

"Smitten?" she suggested, then blushed. "You shouldn't say such things in church. Aren't you going to confession?"

"Nope," Remy said. "I can't receive any of de sacraments."

"Why not?" she asked.

"I was excommunicated," he answered. "There ain't an organization I haven't been kicked out of yet."

Idie's eyes widened. "Why? What did you do?"

"I was divorced," he said.

Idie thought for a moment. "You could ask the Church for an annulment," she said. "Then you could come back."

Remy said: "I didn't ask t'be divorced, let alone married in de first place. I don't want to pay de Vatican some ransom and have them make it like it never happened. No, I don't think I will. Me and de Church don't see eye to eye on dat one."

Idie fiddled with the rosary beads and then shifted a bit away from Remy.

"Sorry, _petite_. I'll try not to let my apostasy rub off on you."

"I think I'll pray...for us both," she said, and bent to lower the kneeler. She knelt and bowed her head. Remy looked up at the altar and cleared his mind. He let go of the bitterness he felt and asked Saint Jude to intercede with God on his behalf. He said a prayer to Saint Dismas for his father. Then he asked Saint Francis of Assisi to watch over Rothko, in case the dog poisoner was still around. The organ began to play softly.

"What are you doing here?" a voice rang loudly in the quiet of the church.

Remy and Idie turned to see Cecelia Reyes in the company of an older woman.

"Cecelia," the older woman admonished. "Rude."

Cecelia looked abashed. The woman she was with was hispanic, and could have been anywhere from forty to sixty, if Remy had to guess. She had a timeless beauty that he could see reflected in Cecelia's features. The only clue to her age was the white strands in her black hair and the cane she held in her hand.

Remy smiled up at Cecelia. "Good morning, Cecelia."

"Hello, Dr. Reyes," Idie said politely.

Cecelia's companion looked at Remy. He could feel her appraising him. "Is this a friend of yours?" she asked Cecelia.

"Uhm, auntie, this is-Remy. And Idie," Cecelia said.

"A pleasure," Remy said. "May I call you Marguerite, yes? Cecelia mentioned you lived in North Salem."

Cecelia's aunt raised her brows and looked at her niece. "And you know one another from...?" The woman had come to some conclusion about Remy and seemed to have found him lacking.

"I-we, were...Remy was a patient of mine," she finally concluded.

Aunt Marguerite looked from Remy to the young girl. Remy could see her trying to figure out how the two of them were related. "Aren't you a lovely young lady?" the woman said to Idie. "I haven't seen you here before. Welcome to Saint John's. I hope you like it."

"Thank you, ma'am," Idie responded. "This is my first time. Professor LeBeau convinced me to come."

"Oh, so you're a teacher?" Marguerite asked. Remy was reevaluated with closer scrutiny. It seemed he'd earned some bonus points with the woman. He hoped his clothes looked okay; Jean-Paul had picked them out for him. He wondered if he should have gotten a haircut too. He definitely should have shaved.

"Why don't we take our seats, Auntie?" Cecelia said, and tried to move her aunt away.

"You could sit with us," Idie told her. She slid closer to Remy to make room. Remy dropped his arm around Idie and grinned at her. Cecelia began to turn a deeper shade of red. Remy had never seen her look embarrassed before. His clothes must really be bad. He looked at his tie and tried to figure out what was wrong with it.

Aunt Marguerite and Cecelia joined them in the pew as the other congregants began to gather.

"Do you always come to this Mass?" Cecelia asked, leaning forward so she could look at Remy. "We usually go to the Spanish Mass...on Saturday. We must miss each other." She seemed to be babbling. "There's another on Wednesdays too...oh, but you do dinners those nights-."

"Cecelia," Marguerite whispered, "shh!"

Cecelia sat with her back ramrod straight and stared ahead at the altar boys, who were preparing the altar. Her face was pink. It still was an hour later when the Mass ended. They filed out of the church, Cecelia walking slowly beside her aunt. They stepped out into the Sunday sun.

"It was very nice to meet you," Remy told Marguerite. "Your niece is heaven-sent."

Marguerite looked pleased. "Cecelia's got a good head on her shoulders...that comes from her mother's side of the family-my sister. Cece's a good judge of character."

Cecelia muttered to herself.

"I'd be happy to have the pair of you over for brunch. Cecelia and I were going to cook," Marguerite continued. She had a mischievous gleam in her eyes. Cecelia was looking uncomfortable.

Remy smiled at her. "Any other time I'd be happy to take you up on that," he said. "But I need to talk to de priest about gettin' dis one enrolled in catechism." He put his hand on Idie's shoulder.

"I think they call it Faith Formation now," Cecelia said.

Remy looked confused. "Where I come from we do things old school. And by old school I mean de nuns graduated sometime during de Spanish Inquisition."

"Professor LeBeau!" Idie said indignantly.

"_Él es gracioso_," Marguerite whispered to Cecelia. "_Tan guapo demasiado_..."

"_Muchos gracias_," Remy told her. Both women turned pink.

"Then there's the softball game," Idie said, looking up at Remy.

"Ugh," Remy said. "How could I forget?"

"Softball?" Cecelia asked.

"Teachers and staff only," Idie said. "But we're-well, all us students-are going to watch. Quentin said it is going to be hilarious."

Marguerite smiled at Cecelia. "But Cece, you love softball!"

"Really?" Remy said disbelievingly. "It's not really my sport. You wanna come along? Make up our numbers?"

"I don't know-," Cecelia began.

"Go on, Cece. You haven't played in so long. It will be fun!" Marguerite said.

Cecelia hesitated.

"You can be on Logan's team wit' me," Remy said. "Really, I'm very bad. I got picked after Lockheed. We could use some help."

After a moment or two, Cecelia finally said: "I'll have to change."

* * *

><p>Rogue would be on first base, Jean-Paul on second, and Jono on third. There had been an argument about who would be doing the pitching, but Rachel insisted that since her father had always pitched, she must have some natural talent. She didn't. Kitty, Sam, Jean-Paul's partner Kyle, the school janitor Mortimer, and the dragon Lockheed made up the the rest of their team.<p>

Logan's team was comprised of Bobby, Joanna, Warbird, Paige, Shan, and Doop. They were short two teammates until Remy showed up with Cecelia in tow. Hank was in his usual place as umpire. Rogue thought they were fairly matched; it was an even mix of competent players and people who didn't know which end of the bat was which. Or she thought they were evenly matched, but with Hank calling the plays and Cecelia now on Logan's team, the tables might have turned. Then again, the rumor mill had it that Hank and Cecelia were broken up. The coin toss decided that Kitty's team was first at bat.

"Maybe I can pitch," Remy suggested.

"Not if I have to catch," Bobby said. "I saw what you did to Magneto. There's no way I'm having you throw things at me."

Remy looked disappointed.

"I can do it," Cecelia said.

"Great," Logan said, tossing the ball to her. "Let's just get this over with."

"C'mon, Logan!" Kitty said. "Be a good sport! Let's _play ball_!"

Several students had gathered around the ball field to cheer, or rather heckle, the players. Cecelia was stretching her arm as she took the pitcher's mound. Bobby pulled a catcher's mask down over his face and readied his mitt. Cecelia wound up her arm and threw.

"I can do better," she said apologetically, even though the ball had flown straight and true across the plate to smack into Bobby's mitt.

Hank was standing behind Bobby. "Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have a ringer," Hank said.

Cecelia showed off her bicep. "You're looking at the arm that paid for my undergraduate degree."

Remy gave a wolf whistle from the outfield and Paige cheered. Rachel was first at bat. She struck out.

"The games we have in the future are more fun anyway," she said as she returned to the dugout. "Potentially lethal. But more fun."

Sam managed to take a base, but then Kitty was struck out and Sam was stuck on first. Jono's pop fly was easily caught and that was the end of that. Rogue went to her base and Rachel took the mound. This might actually be disastrous, but then Shan wasn't too experienced with the game, Warbird not at all, and one of their teammates was a floating green amorphous blob. Remy was notoriously bad at the game, seeming to have no batting ability and the tendency to try to steal bases at inappropriate times. Logan, possibly to try to end the game as quickly as possible with little bloodshed, sent Remy up first, followed by Warbird, Shan, and then Joanna.

"Try not to embarrass yourself!" Bobby yelled at Remy.

Remy walked out to home plate balancing the bat on his fingertips. Even from this distance, Rogue could tell that Remy was, as Kitty put it: "lightbulbish." She knew exactly what Kitty meant. When Remy turned his light on you it was like walking out into the sunshine on the first spring-like day of the year. Conversely, he could make you feel as though you were being roasted in the mid-August sun, in triple-digit heat, one-hundred percent humidity, with lots of mosquitos. It all depended on how he felt about you at the moment. She'd gotten her fair share of springtime and summer days. Rogue hoped he wouldn't take a base, so she wouldn't have to endure a scorching.

Remy was standing on one side of home plate when Bobby called out: "Wait!" He walked out from behind the fence and put Remy on the opposite side of the plate to the left-handed batting position, then returned to the bench. Rogue could see Sam, acting as catcher, signaling Rachel. Rachel shook her head, not because she didn't like the pitches he was requested, but because she didn't understand what he was doing.

"Just throw it!" Sam yelled.

Rachel threw. The ball hit Remy in the shoulder.

"Ow!" he shouted. "She hit me!"

"Remy, I thought you had super-fast reflexes or somethin'," Sam said, scrambling for the ball.

"I was jus' standin' here thinkin': there ain't no way she's gonna hit me!" Remy said. "I didn't know this was a contact sport!"

"He was crowding the plate!" Rachel announced.

"Take your base," Hank said to Remy.

Remy handed the bat to Warbird and stomped over to first base. "She hit me!" he reiterated to Rogue.

"Ah saw, sugah," Rogue said, standing with her hands on her hips.

He stood on first base. "First base, enh?" he said to her with a grin. "Haven't I seen y'here before?"

So, she was getting a spring day. "Been awhile," she said lightly.

"Looks like I'll be getting' t'second with Jean-Paul!" Remy said loudly. Jean-Paul looked over at Remy with a smirk. Remy pointed at Jean-Paul, then himself and danced a little samba step. _You-me-let's dance_...he mimed. Jean-Paul responded with a rude gesture.

"You'll have'ta buy me a drink first!" Remy shouted. Kyle wagged his finger at Remy: _shame shame_.

Warbird whacked at the ball as if she were trying to chop it in half with the bat. She was struck out. So was Shan. Remy sighed. "This is boring. This is a boring, boring sport. Should I steal second?" he asked Rogue conversationally.

"Ah'd like t'see you try," Rogue replied. Rachel had Remy in the corner of her eye. Even she knew that Remy was more likely than not to try to steal a base.

Remy looked over at his teammates. Both Bobby and Cecelia were shaking their heads '_no_' at him. Now Joanna was up at bat. When she took a few practice swings with the bat, it was like a blur in the air. The outfielders began to back up. Joanna approached the plate.

Rachel pitched. The bat made contact with the ball.

"She bunted!" Rachel screamed and Joanna laughed maniacally. Sam and Rachel went running for the ball and crashed into one another.

"Move your ass, Cajun!" Joanna screamed.

Remy was off like a shot. He blew past Jean-Paul with a quickly shouted: "Maybe next time!" Joanna made it to second before the ball was retrieved. Rachel was rubbing her head when Cecelia took up the bat.

Cecelia was an unknown, but if she was as good at bat as she was at pitching...She was.

The ball sailed far into right field in the gap between outfielders. Remy crossed over home plate for the first time in any game he'd ever played. Joanna was hot on his heels as Cecelia flew past Rogue and went on to second. The ball had bounced past Lockheed, who had been looking at butterflies and incinerating them. Kyle and Kitty ran after the ball. Kitty claimed it and threw it to Jean-Paul. It fell short. Remy and Joanna were performing some sort of victory dance to the hoots and jeers of the students.

"_Haters everywhere we go-where we go...haters goin' down for the count!_" Joanna sang.

Rogue couldn't help but laugh at them. The ball was recovered and thrown to Rachel who turned to send the ball to Sam. Cecelia slid across home plate as the ball hit Sam's mitt.

When the dust cleared, Hank announced: "Safe!"

"Oh! C'mon!" Rachel fumed. "Are you blind?"

Cecelia bounced to her feet, her shield had protected her from so much as getting a speck of dirt on her jeans. Joanna gave her a high-five that without a protective force-field would probably have knocked Cecelia off her feet. Remy picked Cecelia up and spun her around in a circle.

"We won!" he shouted. "We won!"

"You didn't win!" Rachel shouted. "It's not even the second inning!"

Remy set a laughing Cecelia down onto her feet. Her arms were around his neck. "Well, I feel like a winner!" he announced.

* * *

><p><em>Next time: Go West, young man. Another side-trip to Gambit's youth.<em>

_I had this discussion with another ex-Catholic friend of mine about the church she goes to now. I was like, am I uncomfortable with the whole public display of faith thing because I was Catholic? Do you feel this way too? She said she was weirded out but the whole hands-raised moved by the Spirit of Christ thing too, at first. She said: It felt like I was going to a rock concert. I was like: YEAH! Thanks for unwittingly helping me with my fanfic, also known as my secret shame. Both my parents are excommunicated and I think that's the pits. Both go to church and my mom is one of the Belles of Saint Mary's. I asked the priest if he could undo the excommunication thing, and he never responded to me. Jerkface.  
><em>

_I don't speak spanish, so sorry if I mangled your lovely language. When I first heard that Marjorie Liu was pairing up Gambit with Cecelia Reyes was I like: WTF? I am down with Gambit playing the field, in fact, I was thinking of renaming this story: Gambit Sleeps With a Bunch of Women He Shouldn't Sleep With. So I had to think, what do Cece and G have in common? Multi-cultural background, and given that she's Puerto Rican and G is French, probably both are Catholic. Gambit's "mom" is a healer, so he'd probably have an appreciation for Cece's line of work. They both like helping kids. They both have self-image issues, Gambit's supposed "self-loathing" is the reason Rogue somehow managed to slip out of being portrayed as a black-hearted bitch when she dumped him in Antarctica. Cece admits that she "hates herself" in the 1998 X-Men/Fantastic Four annual. In the end, I might go with: Gambit's a hot piece of ass and Cece wants to get her some of that._


	31. Lust For Life

_Oh, I wish I had a sun tan  
>I wish I had a pizza and a bottle of wine<br>I wish I had a beach house  
>Then we could make a big fire every night<br>Instead I'm just crazy  
>I'm totally mad<br>Yeah, I'm just crazy. I'm fucked in the head  
>And maybe if I really tried with all of my heart<br>Then I could make a brand new start in love with you  
><em>-Lust for Life, Girls

Remy spent his twenty-first birthday in Rio de Janeiro. It was a hell of a good time, though he had to wonder if he might become desensitized to the sight of so many beautiful women-all doing the Samba-in string bikinis. It was fun to be in Brazil at Carnaval time, but the costumes, parades, singing, and dancing made him a little homesick for Louisiana. If he'd been home, he and his cousins would be out in the backcountry far away from the tourists. They'd be on the _Courir de Mardi Gras_, masked and costumed, running from house to house begging, drinking, and singing until they were paid to go away and bother someone else.

For the first time in three years, Remy returned to the States. He re-entered the U.S. by way of Key West, Florida. There wasn't a whole lot of trouble he could get into in Key West, which was a peaceful idyllic island of palm trees surrounded by crystal blue-green waters. He was sitting on a dock eating a pile of fried conch fritters out of a paper plate and drinking a cold beer. He stared out over the water. It had been awhile since his thoughts had been calm enough for him to keep up with them. Remy was enjoying the tranquility when he realized he was being watched.

He turned to find himself in the company of an orange and white cat.

"_Miaou miaou_," Remy said to it and twiddled his fingers at the feline.

The cat regarded him disdainfully for a moment. It then began licking one of its strangely-shaped forepaws. It appeared as if the cat had thumbs. Remy tossed a piece of fried fish to the cat. It deigned to look at him before gobbling down the food. Licking its chops, the cat turned and walked away. It must have sensed that Remy didn't have much luck making nice with felines. There were a few tourists nearby. They stopped and pointed at the cat, then began taking photographs of it.

_Apparently, this is a famous cat,_ Remy thought. _No wonder he didn't want to be seen with the likes of me. _

Curious, Remy stood and finished his beer, then disintegrated the bottle with a flash of light and heat. He wandered after the cat. The cat turned to look at him with an expression that said:_ Can you believe what I have to put up with? _Now that Remy thought to look, he realized that there were several more cats lounging about, all of them with their strange six and seven-toed paws. There were cats running all over the island of San Juan too, but unlike those mangy _gatos_, these cats looked well-fed and pampered. Maybe they feasted on the screeching wild chickens that ran about this island.

Remy followed the famous cat until found himself in front of a cream colored home with green shutters. More cats roamed about the gated grounds, slept under the palm trees, and wandered in and out of the house. The gate was blocked by a ticket booth. A sign on the gate said: The Ernest Hemingway Home. Remy knew Hemingway was an author, but he'd never read any of his books. At one time, Remy had loved to read books. They were a diversion from reality, first from the hunger and fear that he'd felt during his time on the streets, then later from the bullying he received in his own home. That was before he started finding diversion in the bottom of a bottle. Drinking eventually lost its appeal. Now it was much more fun to find distraction it in the arms of a woman.

Remy paid the entrance fee and went into the home. He looked at the animal heads mounted on the walls; saw Hemingway's bookshelves, the desk where he wrote, the descendants of his pet cats. The writer had been handsome, bearded, with a string of attractive wives. He'd fought and survived a World War, skied the Alps, hunted big game, went deep sea fishing, was a reporter in the Spanish Civil War, hung out with Gertrude Stein and Pablo Picasso. And then somehow managed to find the time to write all these books. In the gift shop, Remy picked up one of his novels: _A Moveable Feast_. It might be nice to get someone else's perspective on Paris.

"That was his last work," the tour guide informed him. "He didn't live to see it published. It was found after he'd died."

"How'd he die?" Remy asked looking at the book jacket. "Gored by a rhino while hunting? Trampled by de bulls in Pamplona?"

"No...Suicide," she said, looking remorseful.

Remy was disappointed.

"Perhaps you should start with his first novel?" the guide said, handing him another book.

"I like to work my way backwards," Remy said with a smile. "I tend t'do things de hard way."

After Key West, Remy went on to Miami, Florida. He liked the Cuban coffee, the warm temperatures, and the art deco architecture. The beaches were white powder sand and clear blue water. The nightlife was raucous, the girls all brown and tall and beautiful. Next was Savannah, Georgia, a place where might have actually felt hot for the first time ever. Remy liked the grand houses, the moss draped trees, the friendly people. From there he began moving westward. He had no intention of going up north. It was too cold up there. Next was Nashville and then Memphis, Tennessee; Little Rock, Arkansas; Dallas to Austin to San Antonio, Texas. It was a long, long way to Albuquerque, New Mexico, then on to Phoenix, Arizona.

He ended up in an armpit of a town outside Tempe, Arizona called Millstone. Remy was on his way to California. He wanted to see San Francisco. He heard people were free-thinking and liberal there. That they'd be accepting of people who were different. He also wanted to know if California girls were really worth singing about. But instead, he was keeping bar at a Broken Spoke kind of dive in Millstone. It was meant to be a quick stopover, a rest stop to give his legs a break from the long bike ride. He went in for a drink and came out with an infatuation; he was completely taken with a waitress, a dark-haired copper-skinned girl named Claire DuLac. She was definitely not impressed with Remy's wit, his charm, or his looks. That only made him want her more. It put him in mind of the other dark haired lovely he'd failed to charm in Madripoor, Tiger Tyger, a Kitty Kytty he couldn't convince to sit in his lap. Remy wondered what he'd have to do get a kiss from that one.

Even though Remy had picked up the worst shifts, took over for people who bailed out at the last minute, and fairly shared his tips, Claire would not be swayed. She rolled her eyes when he smiled at her. She blew air out through her lips in an impatient way when he complimented her. He just couldn't win. He was enjoying himself immensely.

One night, Remy and Claire were on the same shift. It was last call. Claire was trying to mop up the counter around the town's drunk, a man named John Greycrow. He was lying face down on the counter.

"Why did you serve him?" Claire asked, exasperated.

"He came in dis way," Remy said. "Looked like he could use a place t'rest his head."

"He can do that in the alley. Hey, Greycrow. Closing time. Get the hell out," Claire said, jabbing the semi-conscious man's arm with her forefinger.

"Enh, Claire, leave him be. I'll take him out," Remy said.

Claire was about to respond when Greycrow suddenly revived and grabbed Claire where her neck met her shoulder. She gave a cry of pain. When she pulled back, Greycrow fell forward off his stool and onto the floor. Remy vaulted over the counter. Greycrow was struggling to his feet. Remy seized him by the back of his jacket and dragged him backwards out the front door. He was much bigger than Remy, but the drink had made him slow and clumsy. Remy sent him out the door where he fell onto the sidewalk and lay still.

Remy exited the diner and crouched down beside Greycrow. Claire had followed Remy out onto the sidewalk. Remy shook Greycrow's shoulder. "Enh, GC. C'mon now, get up."

"Just leave him, Remy," Claire said rubbing her shoulder.

"Where does he live?" Remy asked her.

"You're not going to take him home, are you?" she asked. "We need to close up shop."

"Can't leave 'im in de street, Claire," Remy said.

"Why not?" she asked impatiently. "He _assaulted_ me! I don't owe him anything!"

Remy fished a pair of U.S. Army dog tags out from under Greycrow's collar. "What don't we owe him?" he asked, looking up at her.

Claire stared for a moment, then turned and pulled a set of keys from her apron pocket. She locked the door to the diner. She crouched and lifted one of Greycrow's arms. Remy took the other and together they heaved the man to his feet.

"I didn't figure you for a patriot," Claire said as they dragged him down the sidewalk, the toes of Greycrow's boots dragging.

"Usually don't hear de word 'patriot.' Maybe 'patriate' if it's got an 'X' before it. I'm a lot of ex-things. _Ex_patriate..._E__x_communicate..._E__x_ile..._Ex_-."

"Well, it's one…two…three strikes you're out," Claire said.

"I hate baseball," Remy said.

"So you aren't a patriot after all."

They dragged Greycrow a few blocks. Luckily, no one point in this town was very far from another. They arrived at a dilapidated trailer home. They dropped Greycrow into a worn lawn chair in the hardscrabble front yard. Remy went to the door of the trailer home.

"He might have keys in his pocket," Claire said, but Remy had already managed to unlock and open the door. "Hey, how'd you do that?"

"I got de magic touch," Remy said waggling his fingers at her. He entered the trailer to find it filthy. Empty beer cans and liquor bottles littered the floor and all available flat surfaces. The bedroom wasn't any better. He stripped the mattress and walked outside with the bed linens. Outside, he tossed them into the open galvanized steel trashcan.

"You might've been right t'leave him in de street," Remy said to Claire. "It prob'ly would'a been cleaner."

Claire looked into the trailer. "I'll go home and get a few things. Be right back," she said.

When she left, Remy found a trash bag and began throwing the empty cans and bottles into it. He'd filled three bags and tossed them outside when Claire returned. She had an armful of clean sheets and a bag from Wal*Mart. Greycrow was still unconscious; his head lolled back, face to the sky. Claire and Remy put the sheets on the bed. They had orange and green poppy flowers on them.

"Snazzy," Remy said.

"Like I was going to give him my good sheets," Claire groused.

They carried Greycrow inside and put him on the mattress. "That's my good deed for the week," Claire said, wiping her hands on her jeans.

"Ah, Claire, I knew you were a big softie under that gruff exterior," Remy told her. He pulled over a chair and sat in it.

"You don't intend to stay in this hellhole, do you?" Claire asked.

"I've been in worse places," Remy said. "And what if he gets sick? Won't I feel bad if he chokes on his own vomit?"

Claire shook her head. "Whatever, Remy. There's some juice and stuff in the kitchen for when he comes to. I'll see you tomorrow." She paused, looking at Greycrow's prone form on the bed. "Be careful, Remy. It's one thing when he's passed out drunk. That man is dangerous. He could kill you."

"Plenty have tried," Remy shrugged. Claire sighed and departed.

After a while, Remy stood and began emptying Greycrow's drawers, closets, and cabinets of half-empty liquor bottles. He poured what he found down the kitchen sink and then put the empties out on the back deck. When he returned, he found Greycrow rummaging in his nightstand drawer, looking for a bottle. Remy was familiar with this tactic. You wouldn't get a hangover if you just stayed drunk.

"Who the hell are you?" Greycrow slurred.

"Just your friendly neighborhood barkeep," Remy told him. "Y'need t'lay off de firewater, kemo sabe."

"I'm going to fucking kill you," Greycrow told him.

"Claire said you might try," Remy informed him. "But I'm notoriously hard to kill."

Greycrow struggled to his feet and swayed. He looked sweaty.

"You gone be sick?" Remy asked him. "Here, I'll hold your pretty hair while you puke."

Greycrow slurred some profanities at Remy and stumbled into the bathroom. Remy followed and after a few minutes, pulled the man's head out of the toilet.

"How 'bout a nice cold shower?" Remy asked him. "Sober your ass up."

Greycrow was not impressed with this idea. He tried a swing at Remy and ended up falling into the bathtub. Remy turned on the shower and the man howled.

"Y'might as well sober up some. If you aim t'kill me, it'll help if you can keep your feet," Remy told him.

Apparently, the man wasn't completely beyond reason because he took Remy's advice. He stared daggers at Remy with bloodshot eyes as water coursed down his face. Remy returned to the bedroom to pick up some cleanish clothes from the closet floor. He heard the shower turn off. Returning to the bathroom, he tossed the garments onto the toilet lid.

"What do you want!" Greycrow screamed at him.

"T'help you out," Remy said.

Greycrow looked incredulous. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"Believe me_, homme_, I've been worse off than you are now," Remy said.

"I really doubt it," Greycrow responded.

Remy shrugged and left the bathroom to wait in the hall. "Let me know if you need help wit' de buttons."

More profanities echoed from the bathroom. When Greycrow emerged, Remy tried to help him to the bedroom but was shaken off. Greycrow instead went into the kitchen and rummaged through the empty cabinets. "-The fuck…?" he said.

"Claire brung you some OJ," Remy said. "My cuz Emil swears by pickle juice as a hangover cure, but only if you can keep it down."

"Fuck your juice and your cousin too," Greycrow said. He blearily stared out the back window and saw the empty bottles on the deck. "I _am_ going to kill you!"

Remy easily dodged Greycrow's attack. He ducked and weaved until Greycrow wore himself out and stumbled. Remy tried to catch him before he fell to the floor, but the man was too heavy. Greycrow lay sprawled on the worn linoleum tiles. His eyes rolled back into his head. Remy sat himself in one of the vinyl chairs and waited. A few hours later, Greycrow revived with a groan.

"It'll get worse before it gets better," Remy said. "You want some of that juice now? Maybe some Dramamine?"

"Who _are_ you?" Greycrow asked again.

"Just another lost soul," Remy told him. "Who are _you_? What's your story? You don't look so old…so Vietnam? Did you descend into your own _Heart of Darkness_?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Joseph Conrad. Y'know…" Remy said. "_'The horror…the horror_…'"

Greycrow regarded him groggily. "I think you mean Marlon Brando…_Apocalypse Now_," he said, rubbing his forehead.

"_What_ now?"

Greycrow leaned back against the kitchen cabinets. "The movie. Marlon Brando…Martin Sheen."

Remy shrugged.

"What planet are you from?" Greycrow asked tiredly.

"I'm almost one-hundred percent sure it's Earth," Remy said amicably.

Greycrow shot to his feet and yanked open a drawer. He found it empty.

"Lookin' for this?" Remy asked, reaching into his jacket pocket and retrieving a pistol. "Mighty fancy pea shooter you got here. You any kinda shot?"

Greycrow's breathing was labored. "The second you find out will be the last second of your life."

"Hah," Remy said. "Let's see then." He handed Greycrow the pistol, then stood and walked out the back door onto the deck.

Greycrow stared after him. "You might need bullets," Remy said, shaking a box at him through the window.

"Crazy ass _gringo_," he muttered and followed after Remy.

Remy picked up several empty bottles by their necks and walked into the backyard. He set them on a tree stump. Returning to the deck he put a few rounds of ammunition into Greycrow's hand. The man struggled to load the weapon with a palsied hand. Remy took the pistol from him, loaded it, and returned it to him grip first.

"Fire at will, soldier," Remy told him with a smile.

Greycrow stared at the younger man for several long moments. Slowly he raised the pistol, turned and fired. His shot missed the first bottle. He cursed and fired again. Another missed shot.

"Boy, de U.S. Armed Forces take in just about anybody these days," he laughed. "Let me have a go." He took the weapon from Greycrow's shaking hand. Remy aimed and dispatched three bottles in three shots.

"Still got it," he said and handed the gun back to Greycrow. "Wanna try again?" Remy bent and picked up several more bottles. He walked out into the yard and set the bottles on the stump. When he turned, he found that Greycrow was pointing the gun at him.

"Who are you?" Greycrow demanded.

"I tole you last night before y'passed out on de bar. I'm Remy."

"Did he send you? What does he want me to do now?" Greycrow asked.

"No one sent me. I'm here under my own gumption," Remy said.

"Well, you aren't some dumb punk," Greycrow said. "And you're not a barkeep either."

"I might have mentioned I was a drunk once," Remy said. "And I'm a pretty good shot, y'have to admit."

"Who trained you?"

Remy smiled. "I don't like t'kiss and tell."

Greycrow lowered his weapon. "What do you want with me?"

"Don't meet many other mutants," Remy said. "We oughta look out for one another, enh, tin soldier?"

* * *

><p>Over the next couple weeks, Greycrow watched the kid with a sort of fatalistic curiosity while wondering what his true motives were. After all, Greycrow's life couldn't get much worse so if the kid was out to kill him, death would only be an improvement. He couldn't figure out why the kid was here or what he wanted. Though it seemed like Remy's main motivations involved the waitress Claire DuLac and getting her to come with him to San Francisco.<p>

"Why would you want to go there?" Claire was asking. The diner was empty save for herself, Remy, and Greycrow who was seated at the counter. "It's full of freaks and weirdos."

"Well, I should fit in well then," Remy said. He and Greycrow were playing Three-Card Monte, with Remy shuffling the trio of cards and Greycrow trying to keep his eye on the lady. He was getting better at tracking Remy's swift movements, so at the very least he was improving. His hands still shook more often than not, which was something that made him angry. Greycrow's hands had always been so steady before.

"What about you, GC? Want to go _on de road_ wit' me?" Remy asked, looking up at Greycrow, trying to distract him from the game. "Will you be Dean to my Sal?"

"I got no idea what you're talking about, kid," Greycrow said, and pointed at one of the cards. Remy turned it over. It was the Queen of Clubs. Remy grinned at him.

"Jack Kerouac," Remy said. "Found God in de sky on Market Street San Francisco."

"He found gut rot in a bottle," Claire said. "I wouldn't take his advice."

"Might take someone wit' a stronger faith than me t'convince you," Remy said with a smile.

Greycrow thought the kid was strangely happy for someone who didn't have two nickels to rub together and spent all his time hanging out with a recovering drunk. He wondered what it must have felt like to be Remy and have endless possibilities stretched out before you like an open road. When Greycrow was Remy's age, he only had two options. One, to live on the reservation and scratch by on government handouts. Two, to live in service of the government in the U.S. Army. Either way, there was no escaping Uncle Sam.

"I've had enough hippy bullshit," Greycrow answered. He had to be careful what he said around the kid. Remy had a way of getting people to talk freely. He'd mistakenly assumed Greycrow had been in Vietnam. It wouldn't do anyone any good for him to know the truth. He did have to say this about the kid: he wasn't one to pry. That suited Greycrow just fine.

"You any good at fry-ups?" Remy asked Greycrow. The older man raised his eyebrow. "Seems we're short a cook."

"What happened to Ellis?" Greycrow asked, looking through the open window into the kitchen.

"Caught stealing from the till," Claire answered. Her back was to the two men as she tidied behind the bar. Remy grinned at Greycrow, and the man shook his head. He knew that Ellis had a more than friendly interest in Claire. Apparently, Remy decided to take out the competition.

"I doubt I'm hirable material," Greycrow said, flicking the playing card towards Remy.

"I'll vouch for you, GC," Remy said. "But y'can't screw up. It'll look bad on me."

Greycrow felt it was a bizarre thing to have someone else put faith in him. That hadn't happened in a long, long time. "I'm not the man you seem to think I am."

"I like t'give people de benefit of de doubt," Remy informed him.

"Seems like a stupid thing to do," Greycrow responded.

"It's all I ask in return," Remy said and turned away. Greycrow wished he hadn't called the kid stupid. It was the first time he'd seen the smile drop off Remy's face. Then he wondered why he even cared.

"Enh, what say you Claire?" Remy said, nudging her with his elbow. "You willing t'forgive and forget? Give our tin soldier here a chance?"

Claire gave him a surly look, but eventually relented. Maybe the kid was actually wearing her down, Greycrow thought. "Whatever," Claire said lightly and turned to glance over her shoulder at Greycrow. "If you can show up tomorrow not reeking of alcohol, then maybe I'll be willing to put a spatula in your hand."

Remy put his arm over her shoulders and hugged her. "_Bien_!" he said. "It'll be us three, then. All for one-!"

"Oh, shut up," Claire said, and shoved him.

So Greycrow had been on the wagon now for over a month, which he believed proved that he could have quit anytime he wanted. It had nothing to do with the kid, his convincing way of talking, or whatever trust he'd put in Greycrow. One minute Greycrow was an unemployed drunk, the next he was frying up burgers and french fries for a living wage, splitting tips with Remy. He'd been lying in the gutter a few weeks ago, now he was driving around in his Jeep through the desert with a couple of laughing kids in the back. The last fire Greycrow had set was accidental. Now they had bonfires in front of his trailer every night. When Greycrow's hands were steady, he could pick out a tune on an acoustic guitar and Remy would sing to Claire.

"_If you're going...to San Fran-cisco...be sure to wear...flowers in your hair..._" Hippy-dippy bullshit, but Remy could be so convincing.

Remy's enthusiasm could be a little catching but Greycrow wouldn't deceive himself. He knew decent things never lasted. Sooner or later the kid would learn the hard way. Someone would come along and smash his spirit. Greycrow just didn't want to be the one to do it.

Greycrow let himself get lulled into a routine. He thought things couldn't surprise him anymore. Yesterday Remy had been on top of the world. He and Greycrow blasted tossed beer bottles out of the sky with a rifle. Remy had happily announced that he was in love with Claire and she with him and that they were going to San Francisco together. Greycrow was glad for them, glad the kid was taking her out of this one-horse dead-end town. Somebody should get a happy ending. When Remy left Greycrow's trailer to meet Claire as she got off the late shift, he was practically buzzing.

The next night, the kid didn't show. Greycrow thought maybe he and Claire had all ready gone west. It would've suited Greycrow just fine to not have to say goodbye, but Remy was the sappy sentimental sort. He'd always sought Greycrow out for company before. Greycrow was forced to admit he was concerned.

He found Remy on the floor of his meager flat above the town's pharmacy, a knife in one hand. He was crouched over himself, kneeling in a pool of blood. Greycrow grabbed him and yanked him upright, pulling the blade from Remy's hand. He looked at the kid's wrists, but he appeared to be unharmed. Where did all the blood come from then?

"What the hell?" Greycrow shook him. Remy's face was strangely blank, his eyes empty.

"I had to let him out," Remy said dully.

"Let who out, kid?" Remy felt extremely hot, even through his clothes. He was shaking uncontrollably.

"I'm dead," he said in a strange voice. "Why am I still here?"

"Snap out of it!" Greycrow struck him across the face.

"There was so much blood," Remy said, speaking normally again, holding his side as if he were in pain. "And you were there. Why were you there?"

Greycrow lifted Remy to his feet. He needed to take the kid to the doctor. The nearest hospital was twenty minutes away. By the time he got Remy down the stairs he knew that the hospital wasn't going to be an option. He was only getting hotter...and brighter. Greycrow put him into his Jeep and drove out into the desert. When he felt they were far enough away from town, he took the kid out of the vehicle and walked with him a ways. Remy was rambling, talking nonsense. He claimed he was on fire. He believed himself to be dead. He said he was being followed, that someone was after him. He thought he could see the future. He said there were two.

"Two _what_?" Greycrow asked.

"Of me," he answered.

Greycrow set him down in the dirt and backed away. He wasn't sure what would happen if the kid would blow. Greycrow had regenerative abilities, but he didn't know if that extended to being blown to smithereens. He wondered who'd slipped the kid some peyote, bad acid, whatever. The kid was seriously tripping. Remy started screaming.

"Don't go!" he cried over and over.

Greycrow approached him cautiously. He was glowing bright, brighter than the sun. Greycrow touched him. What did he have to lose anyway? After a few moments, the light seemed to dim. Greycrow guessed it was either that or he was going blind. He could hear Remy's labored breathing, but he'd stopped ranting. The light definitely faded, leaving them both in the darkness. Greycrow sat cross-legged in the dirt. He waited.

When Remy came back to himself, he was confused. He didn't know where he was or how he'd gotten there. Greycrow explained what had happened.

"Who gave you the drugs?" he asked.

Remy shook his head. "I'm not on drugs," he said hoarsely. "Don't I have enough problems?"

"Then what the hell was that?"

The kid took in a shaky breath. "I dunno," he said after awhile. "I don't know what's happening t'me."

"This happen before?" Greycrow asked.

"Never so bad," Remy admitted. "There's times I feel like I'm...invincible. That I like myself, and I can do anything. But it ends. Then there's just nothing. I'm trapped. Alone...I envy the dead. At least they're at peace."

Greycrow didn't know what to say. "You need help, kid," he said finally.

Remy was kneeling in the dirt, his hands clasped behind his neck. He shook his head. "Where am I supposed t'go? Who's gonna help me?"

Greycrow thought for awhile. "You got two options," he said slowly.

Remy looked up at him, his eyes glowing faintly in the darkness.

"There's one place I know of...back east. About five hours time from here in New Mexico. The Ryking Institute in Alamogordo," he began.

"They help people...like me? Like us?"

"Mutants, yeah. At least one that I know of for sure," Greycrow said.

"What's de other one?"

Greycrow was unsettled. He put his hands on his knees. "There's a man, a doctor I guess..."

Remy had unfolded himself to sit back on his heels.

"In New York," Greycrow continued. "His name is Xavier. Charles Xavier. He's got some school."

Remy stared at him. Then laughed dryly. "Do I look like a scholar t'you?" he asked.

"It's a front. For what he really does," Greycrow said. "Helping mutants, world peace...hippy bullshit."

"New York?" Remy said. "It's cold up dere, ain't it?"

"Come winter, yeah."

Remy rubbed his hands over his face. "I'll go to New Mexico first," he said. "See what dere is t'see. If that don't work, I'll head up t'New York."

They sat in silence for awhile. "You're a decent human being," Greycrow told him. "You don't need to be hanging around the likes of me. I'm a murderer. A traitor."

Remy shook his head. "The best person I know hung out wit' the worst of de worst. Liars, thieves, whores, and sinners."

"I'm sure I don't know him," Greycrow said.

Remy stood. "I'm sure He'd like t'know you. Maybe someday you'll meet Him."

Greycrow saw Remy off as he headed back east on his bike. Greycrow didn't know what to tell Claire. He could let her believe that Remy had skipped town and ditched her. Or he could tell her the truth: that she was in love with a madman. Greycrow decided to lie.

"He headed east," he told her as he tied an apron around his waist. "Had to go quick. Heard his father was sick, sick in a bad way."

Claire looked at Greycrow through the kitchen window, a sad expression on her face. "I knew he was homesick," she said. "Maybe it's for the best."

Greycrow nodded and pulled a folded card from his pocket. "He said to give you this." He passed the card to her through the window. It was the Queen of Clubs with the simple message written upon it: _Until next time. I'm sorry._

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: See <em>_X-Men: Divided We Stand__ #1. Turns out Remy's prediction came true about how someone with stronger faith would convince John Greycrow._

_Queen of Clubs: Free will, independence, fiery personality_

_Myra: thanks for the recommendations. I especially liked First Aid Kit. As for Rogue, I hope I am not abusing her too badly. I am trying to give her a fair treatment, but boy is it hard.  
><em>

_JasmineBella: I have two dogs too. Everyone should have two dogs! Mine are quite a bit stupider than Remy's dog though. I hope your pups are as clever as Rothko.  
><em>

_Next time: Death makes a friend. Gambit goes on a play date.  
><em>


	32. Thieves In The Night

_My friend once told me something so right  
>He said to be careful of thieves in the night<br>Baby, I've lost you here in the crowd  
>Open your arms I want to be found<br>Maybe I'm calling your name in the night  
>Open our eyes we'll feel with our sight<br>A want is a lack but also desire  
>A need can be nothing but should be held higher<br>A need is a want wearing disguise  
>It can be confused if fueled by desire<br>Baby I'm calling your name in the night  
>No reason with need, look into my eyes<br>_-Thieves in the Night, Hot Chip

The watcher was waiting for the right opportunity. He kept a careful eye on Death, hoping that the personality would more forcefully assert itself. He wondered what Death's motivations were. Death should exist to serve Apocalypse and desire nothing but destruction. As the days passed, the watcher realized that Death was not as idiotic as he had previously thought. The watcher observed Death catch and release tadpoles and frogs at the lakeshore. Death coaxed the wary German Shepherd out of the bedroom with a trail of sugary cereal. The only destructive thing Death did was to draw on the bedroom walls with a green marker. The watcher realized he wasn't dealing with an idiot, but a child. The thought of being able to win over the Horseman with an offer of candy amused the watcher.

One evening, Death left the apartment by way of the window. He would be heading to the lake. The night air was hot and heavy from the daytime sun and humidity. The physical transformation from Gambit to Death was complete. His skin was jet black, hair snow white. As always, Death avoided people and slipped into the forest unseen. The watcher followed at a distance. Death was silent as he passed through the forest and he walked with a light step over fallen leaves and pine needles. At the lake he stripped and slipped into the water. He'd improved his swimming technique since the first time the watcher saw him splash into the water. Now Death would slide under the surface and reemerge some feet away, gliding soundlessly under the water. There was a floating dock several yards from the lake's edge where it was deep enough to dive. Death made his way to the dock and pulled himself out of the water. Moonlight shown silver on his hair but the rest of him was a dark shadow.

Now he would be at his most vulnerable surrounded by water, adrift and naked on the lake. The watcher had to be very careful in his approach. Death's persona could easily slip away and be replaced by Gambit's. He would have to do something to capture the child's attention and intrigue him. He knew that he and Death had followed the same master, Apocalypse, and therefore shared a common enemy. He hoped the promise of destruction would draw the child in, lead him to realize his purpose.

The watcher stood at the edge of the forest hidden in the shadows. If Gambit should reappear, the watcher would slip away quickly. It would take several moments for Gambit to regain control of himself and then make his way back to shore. Death was bobbing up and down on the dock, planning to launch himself into the water when the watcher called out to him.

"Death," he said, then paused. The child immediately dropped to a defensive crouch and looked around for the source of the voice. "Let's you and I talk."

Death's eyes searched the forest, finally lighting upon the watcher. From his stance and silent stare, the watcher could tell that Death was wary. The watcher waited, tensed to flee, but Gambit did not return.

Death finally answered in a hoarse quiet voice that even at its loudest was difficult to hear from this distance: "Death is not the angel I am named for."

This pronouncement was not what the watcher had prepared for. "No?" he said uncertainly. "Then...may I ask-what _is_ your name?"

Death considered the watcher for several moments. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers," he answered coyly, and the watcher could see the flash of white teeth in a dark face.

"Then allow me to introduce myself," the watcher said, slipping from the darkness. "Then we won't be strangers any more."

"I know who you are," Death who was not Death answered. "But you're _baaad_."

"Am I?" the watcher asked. "If I'm bad as you say, then what are you? We both share a common purpose."

Not-Death considered this. "What do you know of my purpose?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

The watcher sensed he had to tread carefully. He clearly had stumbled on the right words to draw Death in. "I believe we can help one another achieve this purpose."

Death's eyes burned in the darkness. "I should talk with my brother first. I've asked him before. He says it's too dangerous. He is scared."

"Your brother?" the watcher asked with trepidation.

"Remy. I'll ask him."

"You don't want to do that," the watcher said quickly. Now Death had backed away, his eyes darted to evaluate his escape plan. The watcher tried to regain his sway over Death. "You and your brother, are the pair of you in agreement? Are you equals? Or does he control you?"

Death hesitated.

"Don't you want to be free? To make your own choices without having to ask permission?"

"Remy is my brother. I love him. He knows what to do," Death said, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

"But you're trapped, aren't you?" the watcher coaxed. "You have to wait to be freed. You rely on him for all things. When you can come out, the food you eat, what you do, who you talk to..."

"We share..." Death said.

"I can give you your freedom," the watcher said. "I'll help you and you can help me. We can both have what we desire."

"Remy told me there would be people like you," Death said. "People who make promises."

"Oh?" the watcher said, keeping his voice light.

"He wants to protect me. But he can't. Not forever," Death's voice was even fainter now. "I will think about what you have said."

"Will you consult your brother?" the watcher asked.

"I don't know," Death answered. "Maybe. You are right...me and Remy want different things. But I need him, and he likes that."

"And what do you want, Death?"

"I told you, I am not Death's angel," the child said. "I am Rafael."

It occurred then to the watcher that Gambit was in fact insane. That there was a simpler explanation to the two personalities that had nothing to do with Apocalypse. The drugs, the articles, the medical bills all pointed to the fact that Gambit was mentally ill. The watcher wondered if he could still turn this to his advantage. If Rafael and Gambit were one in the same, then the prophecy spelled out in the diary would apply to both personalities.

"Take your time to think, Rafael," the watcher said. "I have some things to take care of, but I'll be back soon. We'll talk then."

Rafael stared after him. "We can meet here again," he said.

The watcher smiled. "I'll be watching," he said.

* * *

><p>"It's nice of you to give up your evening to drive Idie out here," Cecelia said.<p>

"Got nothin' goin' on on a Wednesday anyhow," Remy said with a shrug. "But don't let on t'de other students. I'll be drivin' kids all over de place."

"Don't pretend you don't like it," Cecelia said, using her toe to send the swing she was sitting on to rock backwards. Remy was on the swing beside hers. They were in the small playground outside the Catholic church's parochial school. Idie was inside with the other students her own age in her Faith Foundation class. It was late evening but the summer sun had not completely faded from the sky.

"Well, it was nice of you t'agree t'keep me company," Remy said.

"My motives are not entirely altruistic," Cecelia said. "I was promised ice cream."

Remy smiled and rocked his own swing. For a moment they were in sync until Remy's legs dragged in the rubber mulch which covered the ground. Cecelia gave herself another push.

"If you swing yourself over the bar, you'll turn yourself inside out," she said.

"Have you ever tried it?" he asked.

"No, but I got close," she said. "You need someone to push you. Playground equipment these days is different. It's all been made kid-safe."

"You sound disappointed," Remy observed, watching her swing back and forth. "I'd think as a doctor you'd appreciate less kids gettin' hurt."

Cecelia skidded to a stop. "It's not nearly as fun now. Kids practically need to be balled up in bubble wrap to come outside."

"Must've gotten tips from my poppa," Remy said. "Remember when my brother got me a bike for my first Christmas. I took a tumble before I left de driveway. Jean-Luc wouldn't have let go of de bike seat until I was fifteen if he'd has his way."

"That's sweet," Cecelia said.

"Yeah, learned me a lesson," Remy said, grinning. "Learned if I got myself into trouble I could get me all de attention I wanted."

"Ah, it all makes perfect sense now," Cecelia observed. "My brother was the same way, but I just wanted him to leave me alone. He used to drive me crazy. Constantly hovering, telling me what to do, nagging me."

"Isn't that what big brothers are for?"

"I used to resent him for thinking I couldn't take care of myself. But he was just trying to be my dad and my brother at the same time."

"Must've done somethin' right. You turned out pretty good," Remy remarked.

Cecelia stood up. "Let me give you a push," she said. "Lift up your legs."

Remy obeyed. "Don't send me over de bar," he said. "I like myself rightsides-in."

Cecelia placed herself behind Remy and used her shields to push him forward. When he swung back, she grabbed the seat of the swing and gave him another push.

"I'm not sure how Spiderman can do this all day," Remy said while swinging backward, his hair falling in his face.

Cecelia gave him another push. "Jump off," she said. "When you get to the top. It's fun."

When he swung backwards and forwards again, he jumped from the seat to land in the rubber mulch. "Hey, look how far I got," he said. "Not bad for my first time, enh?"

"If I'd known you were a virgin, I would've been more gentle," she said. She felt her face grow red.

He laughed. "What's next?"

"How about the twisty slide?" she asked and pointed.

Together they walked to the slide and Remy started up the ladder. He looked down the enclosed tube. "I've been in sewers that are cleaner than dis slide," he said.

"Germs make you stronger. Helps you build up a tolerance so you won't get sick."

"I don't ever get sick," he told her.

"Well, go ahead then. I'll wait at the end."

From the end of the slide, she could hear him climb inside. There was a sharp squeaking sound. "You have to let go of the sides Remy."

"I'm not sure I want to," he said, his voice echoing out of the tube.

"It's safe, otherwise it wouldn't be here. When I was a kid, these slides were made out of metal, not plastic. On a good sunny day, you'd burn your butt coming down if you were in shorts."

"To think I missed out on all de fun," he replied. "Getting turned insides-out, germ-exposure, butt burnings...what's next?" he slid partway down the tunnel. Cecelia could see his legs appear. She climbed inside and pulled him out by his ankles.

"It's a boy!" she announced when he emerged. When Remy sat up, his hair stood on end. She laughed.

"What?" he asked.

"Static," she said and moved to smooth the flyaway strands, but the static electricity caused her shields to come up, preventing her from touching him. He combed his own fingers through his hair.

"So now I can say I've done that," Remy said.

Cecelia looked around. "How about this one?" she pointed. "Teeter-totter?"

"All right."

They took their seats, but Remy was much too tall. "These are even less fun then they used to be," she said. "They used to be longer, and there weren't these stupid springs. We could try and launch one another off the end, or jump off when the other person was at the top."

"That's not very nice," Remy said, sitting flat on the ground. Cecelia was in the air above him.

"Kids do mean stuff sometimes," she said.

Remy stared at her.

"I was kind of a bully in school," Cecelia continued.

"Why?" he asked.

"Don't know. I guess I had a chip on my shoulder. I felt like everyone was out to get me. I just didn't want to be bothered. I regret it now."

"Do you?"

"Yes. I could've been nicer. I might have had more friends," she said, and Remy stood and lowered Cecelia to the ground. "But being popular never appealed to me. I bet you were."

"I was what?" he asked.

"Popular."

"No, not me."

"Oh, right. You've got the lone wolf thing going on."

"Not by choice," he answered. "What's next? Something funner, I hope."

"I've saved the best for last," she said, climbing off the teeter-totter. She led him to the monkey bars. "Here," she said, "you have to go across hand over hand."

Remy reached up and took hold of the bars. When he hung from them, his legs dragged on the ground. "I've outgrown dis one too," he said.

Cecelia could reach up and just touch the bar with the tips of her fingers. She let out a little gasp when Remy took her around the waist and lifted her up so she could take hold of the bar. Cecelia dangled for a moment, then turned herself and swung from bar to bar. She turned again and started back.

"Pretty good?" she asked, stopping in front of him. He reached out and poked his index fingers in her armpits.

"Not ticklish?" he said playfully.

"Shields," she replied. "Remember?"

"You take de fun out of everything," he complained.

She hung from one hand and put the other around his shoulders. When he put his arms around her she dropped from the bar and he held her tightly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his lips.

His sharp intake of breath told her that he hadn't expected the kiss. She released him quickly and slid down to the ground. Cecelia stepped back. With eyes cast downward, she lightly rubbed the back of her hand over her lips and strode away. She walked over to the merry-go-round and stepped on. She pushed herself off with one foot and sent the merry-go-round spinning. Remy slowly approached and watched her spin in one full rotation before stepping aboard. He pushed off to continue the spin. Cecelia sat on one of the bars that served as a handle. Remy crossed to the center of the merry-go-round.

"It's more fun if you're on the edge," she told him. He was watching her. It had grown dark by now, and she could see his eyes shining in the darkness. Remy sat himself across from her.

"I like things t'be easy between us, Cece," he said.

She felt embarrassed. "I guess I screwed that up," she said. "Sorry. Let's pretend it didn't happen."

"I don't have t'pretend with you," he said and stood.

He sat beside her as the merry-go-round slowly came to a stop. Cecelia looked into his eyes, looked at his mouth. Remy leaned toward her. She heard a sudden snap of static electricity.

"Whoops," he said, drawing back and touching his lips. "I guess I'm still a little staticky. Did I zap you?"

"You can't zap me, Remy. Your powers don't work on me," she said.

"No?" he asked grinning. "Not even my charm?"

"I guess you have to try and get by on the merits of your own personality," she said with a wry smile. "No tricks to fall back on."

"I might still have a few," he said and a playing card materialized in his fingers, "up my sleeve."

"Aren't you smooth?" she said while rolling her eyes and taking the card from him. It was the Queen of Spades.

He put his hand to her face, fingertips tracing her cheek gently. Her shields did not react this time. She leaned toward him this time and their lips met softly at first. Cecelia put her arms around him and deepened the kiss. She felt a flush spread throughout her entire body. She was surprised at the depth of her own desire. They kissed again, lips parting. Her fingers twined in his hair. One of his hands rested on her hip, pulling her closer. Cecelia made a soft sound in the back of her throat.

It was fully dark now, so when the flashlight beam shown in Remy's face, it was very bright. They drew apart suddenly.

"Park closes at dusk," said a man from the playground gate. They looked to see a security guard with a flashlight. The streetlights came on, illuminating the boundaries of the park. The man's face was concerned.

"Is this man bothering you, ma'am?" he asked, keeping the light trained on Remy's face. Remy put up a hand to shield his eyes.

"Uhm, no," Cecelia said, putting her hand over her swollen lips. "We're fine. Just leaving."

They both hopped down from the merry-go-round and started toward the gate.

"Sorry to trouble you," Remy told the guard and gestured to the school. "Waitin' on our girl inside." Several students had begun to descend from the front steps. Idie exited last, her books pressed to her chest. She spotted Cecelia and Remy under the street light and trotted over. The security guard nodded at them with a sort of smile and left to lock up the school.

"How'd it go?" Remy asked Idie.

"Good," she said. "We're learning the Beatitudes."

"Have them all down?" Cecelia asked.

She nodded. "Yes," she said and recited them as they walked to Remy's car.

"I think you're missing one," Remy said, counting on his fingers.

"Uhm..." Idie thought and climbed into the backseat. "Blessed are the..."

Remy regarded Idie in the rearview mirror. Cecelia turned from the front passenger seat and flashed Idie the peace sign covertly.

"_Peacemakers_...for they shall be called the children of God," Idie said with a grin at Cecelia.

Remy shot Cecelia a look.

"Now we get ice cream," Cecelia told him.

Remy sighed. "All right," he looked at Idie again. "Now you're not tellin' anyone about this. I can't be seen t'be playing favorites."

"I won't tell," Idie promised.

At the diner, Cecelia and Remy seated themselves in the red vinyl booth across from Idie. She pulled a laminated menu from it's place with the mustard and ketchup. "What can I get?" she asked.

"Whatever you want," Remy said. "Same goes for you, Cece."

"I just want a vanilla shake," she told him.

"You're no fun," Remy said.

The waitress approached the end of their table. She set glasses of water in front of them. "What can I get you?" she asked.

"Go ahead," Remy said gesturing to Idie.

"May I have this?" she asked, pointing to the menu. "Please?"

The waitress smiled at her. "Of course, hon. Sweet daughter you have here," she told Remy and Cecelia. Both Idie and Cecelia opened their mouths to speak.

"Why thank you, we think so too," Remy quickly said with a grin and put his arm around Cecelia.

The waitress took the rest of their orders and left.

"How old does she think I am? I'm not old enough to have a teenage daughter!" Cecelia said, indignantly.

"You shouldn't lie," Idie told Remy.

"I didn't lie," Remy said.

"It's a lie of omission," Idie said pompously.

"Oh...like me takin' you out for ice cream and you promisin' not t'tell?"

Idie looked abashed. "Well..."

Remy continued: "I just didn't correct her assumption. Do you want t'make her feel bad and point out her mistake? Make her embarrassed?"

"I'm embarrassed," Cecelia grumbled. Remy took her hand under the table.

"Not about our lovely daughter here," Remy told her.

Idie looked at them both and grinned. When her sundae appeared, she stabbed into it with her spoon. "It's too bad you're excommunicated, Remy," she said. "Otherwise you could be my sponsor...for when I'm confirmed."

Remy stopped smiling and looked down at the table. "Hardly fit t'be anybody's sponsor, _petit feu_."

Cecelia's eyes darted from Remy's face to Idie, who was obliviously spooning hot fudge into her mouth. "I could do it," Cecelia said. "Like my auntie sponsored me. What name will you pick?"

"Would you?" Idie asked, excited. She lapsed into thought. "I don't know what name I'll pick yet. We have to pick and then write an essay on why we chose that particular saint. What's yours?"

"I chose Saint Raphael the archangel," Cecelia answered. "Patron saint of doctors and healers."

Remy stared hard at Cecelia. "Really?" he asked.

"I knew what I wanted from the start," Cecelia told him. "What about you?"

Remy hesitated.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to," Cecelia quickly told him.

"No, I have to," Remy said with a smile. "I made a bet."

Cecelia looked at him curiously.

"It's Etienne," he said. "Or Saint Stephen. After my cousin."

Idie looked at Remy. "What's he the patron saint of?"

Remy smiled. "Casket makers," he said with a laugh. "Morbid, right?"

"I'm going to have to pick carefully," Idie said seriously. She had whipped cream on her nose.

"Sure," Remy said. "There's a lot to take into consideration." He looked at Cecelia, his eyes searching her own.

"You'll know," Cecelia said to Remy, "when it feels right."

* * *

><p><em>Next time: Kitty Pryde's idea of a good time becomes Bobby and Remy's worst nightmare. <em>

_John Greycrow is the Marauder Scalphunter. Gambit's relationship with him and Claire DuLac (or Du Luc) is cannon. First appearance in Uncanny X-Men #324, see also Gambit's 1st ongoing series #8._


	33. Promises

_And they say it's only natural  
>They say we're coming along just fine<br>But I can't help thinking we grew up too fast  
>And I know, I know, I know this won't last,<br>A second longer than it has.  
><em>-Promises, The Morning Benders

"Please, Bobby?"

"No," Bobby answered.

"Pretty please...?" Kitty entreated, blinking her eyes at him.

"No, Kitty!"

The Jean Grey School teachers were gathered in the staff lounge. Half were seated in the surviving office chairs. Logan and Rogue were standing, others perched on the oval table or leaned against the walls. They were all watching the exchange between Kitty and Bobby with rapt attention.

Kitty's lower lip stuck out. "Bobby...I was really, _really_ counting on you to help out with this."

Bobby hesitated. He looked at Remy, who was ruffling his dog's fur and grinning. Bobby remained resolute.

"I won't do it!" he declared.

"All right, Kitty. That's enough," Logan said tiredly.

"Don't I have _any_ volunteers?" Kitty asked.

The staff room remained silent. "Come on!" Kitty exclaimed. "Rogue..?"

Rogue folded her arms over her chest and looked away. "Ah...kinda have a guest comin' over that night," she said.

Bobby caught Sam's eye and they both shared a look that said: _Bleagh! _Rachel poked Bobby in the side and he turned to glower at her.

"Oh!" Kitty stamped her foot. "There's going to be pizza! And candy! And music! It's going to be fun!"

"Being locked in the library with two dozen teenagers on a Friday night is no one's idea of fun, Kitty," Joanna informed her.

"Well, that's _your_ opinion!"

"We'll have to settle this the old fashioned way," Logan said, rolling up a sleeve.

"No!" Bobby said. "No one is arm wrestling you!"

"What do you propose then?" Logan asked him.

Bobby thought for a moment. "We'll Roshambo this thing."

"Fine. Let's go," Logan said, making a fist. "One-two-three-shoot!"

Logan went for "rock" and Bobby "scissors."

"Dammit!" Bobby said.

"Rookie move, Bobby," Rogue said. "He always does rock."

"I didn't think he'd be so predictable!" Bobby exclaimed.

No one wanted to go up against Joanna, who was the reigning champion. She actually acted out "rock breaks scissors" and "scissors cuts paper."

"Paper covers rock!" Joanna declared, clamping her hand down on Paige's fist.

"Owww! Okay, okay! You win!" Paige exclaimed, and Joanna raised her arms in the air like a prize fighter. Paige was the first to end up volun-told for the first Jean Grey School Library Lock In.

Remy was also winning with zero losses until he went up against Logan. Logan put Remy in a headlock and forced him to confess that he'd been cheating and using his heightened agility to change his answers at the last moment.

"You're disqualified!" Logan said, pointing at Remy. "Now you _have_ to chaperone!"

"It's not supposed to be a punishment!" Kitty shouted.

In the end, Bobby ended up losing solidly. He raised both "rocks" to the sky and screamed: "Noooo! Curse you, Kitty Pryde!"

Most of the students were as equally enthusiastic about the Library Lock In as their teachers. No one really wanted to be spotted in their pajamas in front of the other members of the student body. Kitty had it in her mind that it would be a family-bonding experience and a chance for the students to get to know each other better. When Remy and Bobby found out karaoke was involved, they went on a hunger strike. Remy was eventually bribed with promises of Butterfinger bars, but Bobby had to be bodily dragged into the library by his ankles by Kitty and Paige.

There was plenty of pizza (defrosted from several weeks ago when Remy had ordered it via Quentin's phone), carbonated beverages, popcorn, and fun-sized candy bars. Remy ate most of them. Several girls were playing a dancing game on the video game console and the boys were stunned into momentary silence. Bobby began to think the Library Lock In idea wasn't so bad after all. And it wasn't, but everything that happened afterward was.

* * *

><p>Weeks ago, Bobby had picked up both Rogue and Remy from the airport when they arrived in New York from New Orleans. Of course he did; that's the kind of thing Bobby would do. Rogue and Remy were not speaking to one another even though when Bobby. Logan, and Joanna had left New Orleans a day prior they seemed to be getting along just fine. Bobby didn't know what had happened, but Remy was in a really bad mood.<p>

"Who peed in your Cheerios this morning?" Bobby asked when he helped carry Remy's bags back into his apartment.

"Shut up," was Remy's curt response.

"Okay, that's real nice. Did you and Rogue get in a fight?" Bobby asked.

"No."

"Well, you seem kind of mad at her."

Remy took his bag out of Bobby's hand. "You can go now."

"How about: 'Thanks for the ride, _mon ami_'? Or 'Thanks for carrying my bags up'? Better yet: '_Merci beaucoup _for taking care of my dog while I was gone'?"

Remy stood there and ground his teeth at Bobby. Bobby gave an exaggerated shrug and then sat himself on Remy's couch and put his feet up on his coffee table.

"Get out," Remy said.

"Not until you tell me what happened," Bobby informed him. He picked up the remote and turned on the television. "Look. We can watch _Dirty Jobs_. I've seen this one. Mike has to catch a bunch of snakes."

Remy stormed into his bedroom and slammed the door. Bobby heard him ranting in gibberish for several minutes and then something shattered against the door. After awhile, Bobby stood up and went to the refrigerator. There was a business card stuck on the door with a magnet. Bobby called the number on the card.

"He's acting weird," Bobby said.

"Before you promise anything, you need to understand what you could be getting yourself into," Dr. Drumm told him.

"He's not going to attack me is he?" Bobby asked.

"He's more likely to harm himself," Drumm said. "If he does, or even makes any threats to do so, you'll have to call someone from The Raft's psychiatric ward to come get him."

"Isn't that a bit extreme?" Bobby asked.

"Do you consider his deciding to join up with Apocalypse an exercise in moderation?" Drumm asked.

"I don't think he's that bad. But I'll keep an eye on him."

Drumm said he hoped Bobby had thick skin. Bobby figured there was nobody else who would be willing to take on the job. Logan could be patient when it came to women and young children, but would likely see the resolution to Remy's problem to be an ass kicking. Joanna had No Tolerance Policy for any signs of weakness and ranked a zero the sympathy scale. Rogue wasn't going to make the situation any better. Though Bobby now had an appreciation for why she'd want to run screaming from a relationship with Remy. The first week he was back in Salem Center was an absolute misery. Bobby recognized some of the same behaviors Remy had exhibited the last time he'd lost his marbles. He was paranoid, angry, manipulative, and suffering from extreme anxiety. Remy seemed to be trying to get rid of Bobby while at the same time wanting to know where Bobby was at all times. After the first few days of this, Remy seemed to give up and he collapsed into a state of near catatonia.

"He's not on the roof is he?" Drumm asked.

"No, he's laying face-down on his bed," Bobby informed the doctor.

"Oh, well, that's an improvement."

"You're awful blasé about this whole thing," Bobby told him.

"It helps to keep a sense of humor," Drumm said. "It's not a very fun situation. This part doesn't last long. He should be fine within the next day or so. Just keep him away from sharp objects."

"Is that a joke too?"

Drumm paused. "No."

Drumm was right about Remy being fine. He joined Bobby on the couch the following day and they watched _Caddyshack_ and _Groundhog Day_.

"Bill Murray is awesome," Bobby told Remy.

"I remember him from _Hamlet_. He played Polonius," Remy said. "_To thine own self be true. _His part was de only redeeming part in that retelling."

"_That's_ what you remember him from?"

Remy shrugged.

"So what was that all about?" Bobby asked, waving his hand in an all-encompassing gesture.

"Yeah, sorry."

"You're going to have to do better than that," Bobby told him.

"I'll send you a nice Hallmark card."

"Nope."

"Singing telegram?"

"Does this have anything to do with Destiny being your mom?"

Remy sighed. "She's not my mother."

"What? So you found out for sure? When?"

"When I found that paper, that agreement. Because what kind of mother sells her kid? Especially one who knew what would happen when she did? Because she can_ see de future_. Tante Mattie was my mother. Destiny was just a surrogate," Remy sounded tired.

"Well, that sucks," Bobby said. "But you can't take it out on Rogue, you know. It's not her fault."

"I know that," Remy answered, slouching down on the couch. "Is that why you're here? To draw fire? Take one for de team?"

"Yeah, maybe," Bobby said. "And also you have a kick ass stereo system."

"Some things are worth spending money on."

"Speaking of which, why don't you buy yourself some new clothes while you're out spending?" Bobby asked, gesturing to Remy's clothing.

"What's wrong wit' my clothes?" Remy asked.

"Your jeans are more holes than denim, and your Xavier Institute shirt has no sleeves," Bobby replied. "Also, that school blew up. It's time for an update."

"I'm mostly covered. It's fine," Remy said, crossing his arms.

"I've seen your accounts, Remy. You can afford to buy a decent wardrobe."

"I'm saving."

Bobby looked at him. "Saving for what? To buy a pro football team?"

Remy gave him a skeptical look. "No, I invest."

"In stocks?"

"Yes. Well, one stock in particular."

"Well, I'm no expert...oh wait, yes I am...that doesn't seem like a wise investment. You know, eggs in one basket?"

"I aim t'become de majority shareholder of Stark Resilient," Remy informed him. "And launch a hostile takeover of de company."

"I'm not sure that's how that works, Remy," Bobby said. "And why do you want to take over Stark's company?"

"I'm gonna teach dat jerk a lesson," Remy said. "Mister Stark should've kept his grabby hands off my brother's wife. Now I'm gonna grab ahold a his neck and shake 'im until silver dollars come out his ears."

Bobby inched away from Remy. "Does Tony Stark have any idea you are out to get him?"

"No," Remy said. "He'll never see it comin'."

"It seems like an extreme form of revenge," Bobby said. "What happened to forgive and forget?"

Remy was silent for a moment. "It's easier t'forgive when someone's wronged me. I have no choice but t'move on, get over it so I can heal myself. It's dif'rent when someone hurts a person you care about. You can't heal their pain for them. So I can be as mean, nasty, and vindictive as I want on their behalf."

"I'm glad you're on my side," Bobby said. "By the way, there was this one kid who bullied me in elementary school..."

"I could use a guy like you," Remy said, pointing at Bobby with a thoughtful look on his face. "You're good wit' numbers. How would you like to be CFO when I take over Stark?"

"What does it pay?" Bobby asked dryly.

"I'll let you decide," Remy replied. "But at least six figures. And stock. Benefits and use of de corporate jet. To fly to de private island I intend on buying."

Bobby considered this. "That actually sounds pretty awesome."

"Enh, _bien_. Well, you should definitely purchase some stock of your own now, before de next quarterly earnings call."

"Uhm, Remy...you can't go around telling people that."

"Why not? It's a friendly tip."

"No, that's called 'insider trading.' It's unethical."

Remy looked skyward with dawning realization. "Ohhh...is dat what dat is? I thought it was just somethin' rich people did."

Bobby rubbed his forehead. "You _are_ going to need some help running this company."

"Seeing as how we'll be spending a lot of time together in de future," Remy began, "I'm sure you're plenty sick of me by now. I promise I won't stick my head in de oven if you're wanting t'go."

"Yeah, I guess I could head out," Bobby said looking at his stack of DVDs. "There's still _Ghostbusters_ if you're interested."

Remy raised his eyebrows.

"You've not seen this one either?" Bobby asked, showing him the DVD cover.

Remy shook his head. "No. Is Bill Murray in dis one too?"

"Yup," Bobby said.

Remy raised a shoulder. "Yeah, okay."

Bobby believed Remy to be as close to normal as he ever got. He even started thinking that maybe Remy wasn't such a big jerk after all, he might even be nice. Funny sometimes, though not as funny as Bobby himself. Bobby was still somewhat concerned about Remy what with his secretive behavior and his sudden bursts of frenetic activity. Lately, he'd been really even keel. And then he was locked in a room with two-dozen teenagers and it seemed to completely fall apart.

* * *

><p>Remy had a terrible headache that had been building for days. He wore sunglasses even indoors to shield his eyes from the blinding lights. He also felt vaguely nauseated, but that was probably due to the overconsumption of sugar; he could never get enough empty calories in one day. The worst was the dizziness and the heart palpitations. He'd occasionally press he heel of his hand against his chest as if it could stop the arrhythmic beating of his heart.<p>

He did not want to attend the Library Lock In. Bobby had asked him why he simply did not tell Kitty he couldn't go. "Don't you usually go to Mercy Medical on Friday? Just tell her."

"Why?" Remy said, rubbing his head. "So she can pity me and treat me like an invalid? Make her remember, hey, Remy's a crazy person we'd better not let him around de kids."

"All right, have it your way," Bobby said, raising his hands in defeat.

Now Remy wished he'd taken Bobby's advice. The music and the sounds of the teens laughing, talking, and arguing was making his head throb. The kids were passing around one of Magneto's old helmets and dropping slips of paper into it. Paige was up on a makeshift stage with a microphone, explaining to the students the rules of the karaoke machine.

"No one is gonna sing anything inappropriate," Paige told them. "No swearin'. No hecklin'. You just pick a song from the book, write your name on a slip of paper with the song y'wanna sing, then put it in the bucket."

Remy was sitting in the back of the room with his back against the wall. He eyed the helmet warily as it made its rounds. Bobby had ahold of it now and he dropped a piece of paper inside before passing it on. Bobby turned and grinned at Remy.

"What did you do?" Remy asked him with suspicion.

"Who, me?" Bobby answered innocently. "Nothing!"

Remy frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. Unfortunately, Quentin Quire was the first one Paige called to the stage. She read the slip of paper she'd pulled from the bucket. "And Quentin will be singing..._Friday_!"

"_Fri-i-day! Fri-i-day! Gotta get down on Fri-day_!" Quentin sang in the most irritating voice possible. "_Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend!_"

Remy groaned and leaned his head back against the wall.

"_Fri-i-day, Fri-i-day, Gettin' down on Fri-day...!_"

"Thanks, Quentin!" Paige said when the song mercifully came to an end. "That was _fun, fun, fun, fun!_ Let's see who's up next?" Paige riffled through the bucket. "Oh, it's Santo. And he's going to sing..._Baby Got Back_. Hm...is that allowed? Kitty...? No?"

Remy felt hot. That was unusual. Maybe he should drink something? The only beverage available was Coke. The thought of drinking anything else with sugar in it set his stomach roiling.

Santo ended up singing a touching rendition of Fleetwood Mac's _Landslide_. Remy was beginning to think he was hallucinating. Paige returned to the microphone with a new slip of paper. "Next it's...why, it's Remy! Remy, are you going to sing?"

Remy rocked his head back and forth against the wall. Bobby was still grinning at him.

"And you're singing..._Bootylicious_? What is with all these songs about butts? Seriously, you guys!"

"Ha ha," Bobby said. "Destiny's Child. Get it, Remy?"

Remy scowled at him.

"What, too soon?"

Remy stood, opened the library door, and walked out of the room.

"Okay...so, maybe not," Paige said.

Remy walked down the hall to the boys' lavatory. Inside he found Glob Herman and that idiot Julian Keller. They were smoking by the window. Glob at least tried to conceal the fact he'd been smoking but Julian blew a stream of smoke in Remy's direction.

"Give it," Remy said, pointing to the pack of cigarettes Julian had in his coat pocket.

"What happened to the last pack you stole from me?" Julian asked snidely.

"Hand it over, or I will drown you in dis here toilet."

"Hypocrite," Julian sneered and handed Remy his pack of cigarettes.

Remy removed a cigarette, then tossed the pack back at Julian. "Here, keep 'em. I hope you choke." He then went into a lavatory stall and closed the door.

Remy sat on the toilet tank with his feet on the toilet seat and lit the cigarette with a finger. He inhaled shakily. He knew that the up-times he'd been having lately would eventually come to an end. He was prepared for a downswing any time. The medication usually helped to keep him from extreme changes in mood. He could usually ride out the low-times by keeping to himself until it passed. He could feel the change come on; the paranoia that built up slowly. Usually, it took the form of a rising suspicion that he was either being subtly mocked or that people were making veiled threats. With enough space he could get himself over it. At the very worst, he would lose touch with reality. The last time that had happened, he had truly believed that Rogue's sudden change in personality was due to the fact she'd been secretly replaced by a robot. Stranger things had happened, after all, and it would certainly explain a lot.

Remy needed space right now. He knew he shouldn't be smoking as he was all ready sick to his stomach, but there was nothing else to help him relax. The paranoia first began when Magneto showed up at the school. Remy was willing to forgive if not necessarily forget that Magneto had tried to kill him on more than one occasion. Remy wasn't even entirely sure if this Magneto was the same one who'd set him up in the bizarre mock trial in Antarctica. Remy still had the feeling that Magneto bore him some animosity. He felt the best way to avoid Magneto's attention was to rock the boat as little as possible, despite his misgivings.

Unfortunately, his paranoia only escalated when Vernon's dog had been killed. Remy had left Rothko at his apartment for the evening. Now Remy felt he'd made a mistake. He became fearful that something had happened to the dog. He realized that this was also part of his sickness, becoming overly preoccupied people and things, obsessing over them until it consumed all of his thoughts. If something happened to that dog, he didn't know what he'd do. Then the irrational thinking began. If _x _then _y_. That's what had gotten him in trouble before. If Rogue didn't love him, then she must hate him. If she hated him, then he didn't want to live.

If he couldn't take care of a dog, then he must be a completely useless human being. He couldn't protect his cousin Etienne. He couldn't stop bad things from happening to the girls. He couldn't even take care of a dog.

Remy exhaled a stream of smoke. He needed to get out of here. The stall door was suddenly thrown open and Remy startled.

"Smoking in the boys' room!" Bobby said. "How cliched can you-! Oh, Remy. It's you. I thought you were Keller."

Remy coughed. "Bobby," he croaked. "Will you leave me alone!"

Bobby snatched the cigarette from Remy's hand and tossed it into the toilet bowl between Remy's feet. "All right, I'm sorry about the Destiny's Child joke. But no smoking in the school. You're setting a bad example!"

"I don't give a damn about your stupid jokes!" Remy snapped. "Get away from me! Dis stall is occupied!" He kicked the door closed.

"Get back in the library, Remy!" Bobby said from the opposite side of the door. "You have a responsibility!"

"I don't feel well!" Remy yelled back.

"That's because you ate all that candy and then smoked!"

Remy put his head in his hands. "I'm gonna be sick..." he moaned.

"What's going on?" he heard Kitty ask. "Where's Herman and Keller? They've been gone too long."

"I sent Herman back to the library. Keller's done a runner," Bobby said. "Remy says he's sick."

Kitty phased her head through the stall door. "Are you trying to get out of this?" she said impatiently. "Really! It's not _that_ bad!"

Remy raised his head and looked at her.

"Oh..." Kitty said, her expression changing to one of sympathy. "You do look kind of...not good, Remy."

"Seriously?" Bobby asked, exasperated. "He's faking it!"

Kitty phased back through the door. "He looks a little green, Bobby."

"'Cause he was smoking!"

"He's all sweaty too."

"He ate like twenty candy bars," Bobby said.

"What if he's got the flu? We can't have him locked in there with all the kids. We'll all end up in quarantine again!"

"This is not fair!" Bobby exclaimed.

"Why don't you take him home?" Kitty asked.

"I'm not-wait, what? You mean, I can go too?"

"Paige and I can handle it. They've run out of sugar...I'm sure they'll all crash soon."

"Oh, well then sure. No problem."

"Remy!" Kitty said through the door and Remy clamped his hands over his ears. "I hope you feel better soon. Go home and get some rest, okay? Don't come back until you're better."

"Unh..." Remy said. His head hurt so badly now, it was hard to see.

Bobby reopened the door. "All right, we're going. You're not going to puke in my car, are you?"

Remy wasn't sure he was even going to make it to the car. "Wow, you really are sick," Bobby said, helping him down from the toilet tank. "You're not faking it after all. Maybe we should go see Hank."

"I just want to be left alone," Remy said irritably. "Stop talking."

"Okay, okay," Bobby said. Thankfully, Bobby left the radio turned off on the drive back to Remy's apartment. After the car ride, Remy was too dizzy to walk on his own.

"I should have taken you to Hank," Bobby told him regretfully.

"I just need to lie down," Remy responded, trying to fumble his keys into the lock. Bobby took them from him and opened the apartment door. Rothko met them in the doorway, vying for Remy's attention and demanding a welcome home greeting. Remy was relieved to see that the dog was all right, and gave him a cursory check from nose to tail. As he stood, Remy stumbled over the dog on his way to the bedroom. He grabbed ahold of the bookshelves to steady himself. Several books tumbled from the shelves. "Dammit," he muttered, then stooped to pick up the fallen books. His head swam and he would have fallen if Bobby hadn't grabbed his arm and shoulder.

"Here, sit down," Bobby said, leading him over to the couch. "I'll pick it up."

Remy had little choice. He'd never had the flu before, he'd never even had a cold. He'd never felt this way before, so that's what it had to be. Logan must have thrown him in the lake one too many times. Maybe he'd caught something from that slide in the playground. He slouched over on his side, his head on the seat cushions. He could hear Bobby picking up the fallen books and papers. Remy closed his eyes.

"Uhm, Remy?" Bobby began and Remy flinched. He put a hand over his ear to block the sound. "Remy? You might want to look at this."

Unwillingly, Remy reopened his eyes. Bobby was holding something in front of Remy's face. It looked like a mostly black photograph with a blurry white kind of rounded triangle. "What is it?" Remy croaked.

"Uh...well, it fell out of this envelope," Bobby said. "And I think it's a sonogram."

"Is it Emil's twins? I can't make heads or tails of dis right now, Bobby."

"Do you want to look at this envelope?"

Remy pulled a pillow over his head. "No, I want to be left alone."

"Well, it's not from Emil. It's definitely from your ex-wife."

Remy sat up abruptly, which sent the room spinning. "What?"

Bobby handed him a cream colored envelope as if he were passing Remy a bomb. The envelope was open, the seal had come unglued. Remy pulled out the envelope's contents and tried to focus on the words that swam before his eyes. Still holding the letter, his hand dropped and he stared blankly forward.

"Are you okay? Remy?" Bobby asked, concerned.

"This isn't possible," Remy exhaled.

"Uhm," Bobby began and looked at the sonogram. "So this isn't yours? It's got your last name on it."

"It can't be," Remy said, still stunned.

"So if you didn't sleep with her, why do you think she sent this to you?"

"I...well."

"So you _did_ sleep with her," Bobby said dryly. "That was dumb."

"Yes, but...I'm not-I can't have children," Remy said, looking up at Bobby.

"You are supposed to be the Health instructor. I would think you'd know by now how these things work," Bobby said, waving the sonogram image at him.

Remy gave him a surly look. "I _know_, Robert! I'm not an idiot! I can't have kids because I had-because I'm sterile!"

"What?" Bobby exclaimed. "Why?"

"Why? Why do you think? I have a hereditary illness! Do you think I want to pass that on to some innocent child!" Remy cradled his head in his hands. He struggled to take deep breaths.

"All right," Bobby said more quietly. "Okay, so this isn't your kid. Just relax. Do you want me to get you something? Some aspirin?"

Remy was still thinking about the letter Belle had written. Belle said she knew it was a girl long before the doctors had confirmed it and that she'd picked out a name.

_ Please be happy, Remy. Remember our wedding night? The room you'd painted for the baby we would have had?_ Belle had written. _It's all been made right. Tante Mattie would be so pleased._

"Oh...shit," Remy said.

"What?" Bobby said, bringing over a glass of water.

"Oak leaves and mistletoe," Remy said, remembering the marriage ritual; the Guild nonsense with the crown of leaves on Belle's head, the leaves she'd crowned him with in turn. Maybe it wasn't all hocus pocus as he'd thought. Remy's world diminished to a tiny pinpoint of light before completely going black.

* * *

><p><em>Next time: Death And All His Friends. Which is also a Coldplay song. Yes, I listen to Coldplay. Don't judge me.<em>

_Author's notes:_

_Here are some things that are canonical references from the books:_

_This story takes place shortly after Schism arc, with Rogue in charge of a team protecting the school and teaching the students, just after Wolverine and The X-Men #1,2 or X-Men Legacy #1,2_

_Jean-Paul (Northstar) and Kyle are partners, see new Astonishing X-Men_

_G has his own apartment away from the X-Men, Astonishing X-Men_

_Frenzy and G have an established romantic history, but no backstory/details_

_The Guild has established that they sponsor one another on major heists and rites of passage. Henri was G's sponsor, G was Etienne's sponsor. All of the family members referenced in the story, with the exception of Joe Poitier, Mr. Pierce, and all of Emil's children are from the books._

_G was involved with Candra somehow, probably romantically. _

_G was given to the Antiquary and later moved to Fagan's Mob. No explanation was given as to how this happened. Jean-Luc snatched him off the street after G tried to pick his pocket._

_Jean-Luc destroyed G's birth records as well as a prophetic Guild item from the Cask of Tomorrows. No follow up on this in the books._

_G was prophesied to bring back the Old Kingdom. When G traveled to the past with Courier, they encountered Candra, Sinister, and the Thieves' Guild. Gambit took the Old Kingdom know-how from the Guild and had Sinister stick it in his head (somehow) along with restoring him his powers, which were formidable enough that he could have blown up the planet. The New Sun told him this and made it is his mission to stop Gambit from accidentally fulfilling Guild prophecy and destroying Earth._

_The Vampire Chicault was slain by Blade, and the mystery book he carried was picked up by Tome and Hoard. This was never followed up on. The Antiquary's former collection of children was turned over to the Guild by G._

_The mercenary children held in The Pig's Pen were also turned over to the Guild by G. G rescued Shirow from The Pig as well._

_Tante Mattie is definitely Catholic. G probably is too, though considering he once slept with a nun, he's probably not a very good one, see the second Gambit limited series._

_G did steal a jet, but it was never said from where. Given Jean-Luc had an established history with Nick Fury going back to WWII, I made an assumption._

_Sabretooth murdered Genevieve, a thief girl Gambit had manipulated into loving him._

_G did start a prison riot in a drunk tank when he was 17, as mentioned in the first Gambit series._

_G was romantically involved with Claire and was friends with Scalphunter, aka Greycrow._

_G was betrothed to Belle. It was established that they met early in life, maybe around 7 or 8 years of age. But in X-Men #33, G tells his brother he is "marrying a girl he doesn't know." I'm explaining this by having the Guilds force G and Belle apart during the time between G's 16-17th b-days. _

_Le Choisi are a fabrication, but if you look at the art in the first 12 issues of G's ongoing series, there are several strange creepy cloaked figures. I've made a guess about who they are._

_Storm paired G up with X-23 and he followed her around for awhile. She re-introduced G to Cecelia and CeCe did have to patch up his groin. G and CeCe have been hanging out together lately, at a More Than Just Friends level, see Astonishing X-Men._

_Jericho Drumm gave G his business card in the second Gambit ongoing series and tells Gambit he needs to seek professional help. Drumm's girlfriend is an annoying person who filmed G having relations with another woman and then sent that film to both Rogue and Belle._

_At the foundation of Wolverine's school, Rogue is romantically involved with Magneto. My writing ability is limited, so I can't explain why this is. Maybe G is right and Rogue is secretly a robot. More likely its because Rogue kept her memories of Age of X from when she was going by the name Legacy. Also, Magneto held a trial for Gambit in Antarctica, which seems to have slipped Rogue's mind._

_Kitty was infested with Brood parasites in Wolverine & The X-Men._

_Idie is one of Hope's (the mutant messiah) Five Lights, which is why I have G calling her petit feu (little light). She was called a witch and calls herself a monster. She and G have no relationship established in the books (other a Twitter post where she calls him sinful), but considering they are both Catholic and G likes helping out girls, it makes sense why he'd like her._

_Destiny was involved with a project to do with Sinister. (She was the project's archivist, which makes me happy, since yay, I'm an archivist in real life.) G is somehow linked to this project as well as are several other significant characters, though it has not been elaborated on in the books. So now you have three names: Sinister, Destiny, and Gambit. If you can figure out how the three are linked in canon, then you get a gold star and you might be able to figure out where I'm going with this._


	34. I Need A Doctor

_You're like a child and I like that  
>You're always sleeping on my doorstep<br>And you're such a pretty thing, and I like that  
>You're like a child and I like that<br>You're always wishing me so close to death  
>And it's such a stupid thing, but I like that<br>But you torture me and you ruin me  
>I need a doctor<br>I need a doctor  
>You know I love you<br>But I want to kill you  
><em>-I Need a Doctor, The Drums

Remy had definitely fainted. Bobby couldn't believe it. He set the glass of water down on the coffee table and righted Remy who'd slouched over onto the couch. Bobby shook Remy by the shoulders.

"Remy, hey," he said. Remy gave no response.

Reluctantly, Bobby picked up the fallen letter. He briefly skimmed the contents. "Oh. Not good," he said and set the letter aside. Either BellaDonna was as nuts as Rogue claimed or Remy was a father. Looking at Remy now, with his overlong hair, his perpetual five o'clock shadow, and his bizarre choice of wardrobe, Bobby found the concept of Remy being anyone's father implausible. Rothko was whining nervously from the other side of the room. Bobby stood and returned to the scattered books and papers left on the floor.

He scooped up the papers, which turned out to be medical journal articles, and returned them to the manilla folder. There were several children's books, which Bobby thought an odd thing for Remy to have. He set them back on the shelf. There was a leather-bound book that resembled a diary with a broken clasp. Bobby picked it up and stood. Rothko barked and whined. Bobby felt the creeping sensation of someone staring at him. He turned.

Remy had revived and was staring at Bobby silently, a strangely curious expression on his face.

"Oh, good," Bobby said. "You're awake. There's some water for you."

Remy blinked at Bobby and turned to look at the dog, who was pacing nervously back and forth.

"Puppy," Remy called and reached out a hand. His voice was low and raw sounding.

The dog's ears pricked and he moved forward timidly to sniff at Remy's outstretched fingers.

"Good puppy," Remy told the dog. Rothko waved his tail uncertainly.

"Remy, are you all right? Should I call Hank?" Bobby felt as if there were a strange charge in the air. The hair on his arms stood on end.

Remy regarded Bobby for a moment, looked at his shirt and then stared into his eyes. "Bobby Drake," he said finally.

"Uhm...yes. Remy?"

Remy raised the corner of his mouth in a sort of shy smile, then turned his head to the side slightly to look at Bobby out of the corner of his eye. "Remy's not here," he said in his strange voice.

"Uh oh," Bobby said to himself. "Dammit, Remy. I thought you said you didn't have an identity disorder."

"You said a swear," Remy responded coyly.

Bobby slowly reached into the pocket of his jeans. "Oookay..." he said, pulling out his cellphone. The expression on Remy's face brightened. "I'm just going to give Hank a ring."

"Let me see," Remy said, bounding up from the couch.

Bobby hustled backwards and bumped into the bookshelf. He dropped the diary. He was surprised when Remy snatched the phone from his hand. Remy regarded it with avid interest.

"Remy's is different," Remy told him. "But he won't let me play with it since the computer broke."

"Okay, so now you're speaking in third person. It's really annoying," Bobby said, reaching for the phone.

Remy withdrew his hand, holding the phone away. "No, let me see it," he told Bobby.

"Remy, give me the phone!" Bobby said, and grabbed at Remy's wrist. The phone hit the ground, the backplate shattered and the battery and the phone parted ways. The battery slid across the floor and disappeared under the couch.

"You broke it," Remy told him petulantly.

"What is the matter with you!" Bobby exclaimed. "What are you, like, five!"

"I'm this many," Remy said, holding up a five fingers of one hand and a thumb of the other.

Bobby grabbed Remy by the shoulders and shook him. "Remy! Snap out of it!"

Remy's hair flopped forward into his eyes. He looked at Bobby though the tangled strands of hair, which had begun to turn white. "I told you," Remy said. "Remy's not here. He's on-con-shuss." Black lines began to spread out from his right eye and across his cheekbone.

Bobby stumbled backwards. Instantly, he turned himself to ice. "Death!" he gasped.

Death looked perplexed. "No...," he said. Death jolted as Bobby iced his legs to the floor. He looked down, then back at Bobby. "Hey."

Bobby dashed to the bedroom. Remy had to have a phone somewhere. There was a cellphone on the nightstand. Bobby seized it. It hadn't been charged. "Dammit!" he yelled at the phone.

"Another swear," Death said from the doorway. His hair was now completely white, his skin black. He was also glowing faintly.

"Stay back!" Bobby commanded, holding up his arms.

Rothko padded into the bedroom and Death crouched beside him. He patted the dog's head. Bobby lowered his arms. "Gambit!" he shouted. "Wake up!"

Death shook his head at Bobby. "Remy said you were nice, but you're mean."

"I'm not mean!" Bobby exclaimed, frustrated. What was going on? "I thought you were gone! How are you still alive?"

"I wasn't gone, I was hid," Death replied. He sat on the floor. "Remy found me."

Bobby stared at Death. "You're not going to try to kill me?"

Death retied a shoelace. "No," he replied. "Remy likes you."

"But you're Death!"

"I'm not," Death said. "I'm Rafael."

"You're completely nuts, is what you are," Bobby told him.

"Rafael" flashed him a smile. "You're funny," he said.

"What do you know about funny? You're a Horseman of Apocalypse!" Bobby exclaimed.

"I'm not," Rafael said, then turned. He was stretched out on the floor and for a moment, Bobby couldn't see what he was doing. His legs were the only part of his body visible through the bedroom door. When he sat back up he was holding the diary. He opened it and showed Bobby a drawing of two identical men, both appearing to be Gambit. "Here, this is me. Remy is my twin."

"You look nothing alike!" Bobby said, pointing at Death/Rafael.

Rafael reached up a hand and pulled a lock of hair down in front of his face to examine it. "Apocalypse did this. I can change back if you want," he said. "But this way you can tell us apart. And I like having my own...me."

"Identity?" Bobby suggested.

"Yes," was his reply.

"How-how did you end up like this? Like, in Gambit's head?" Bobby asked.

Rafael folded his legs. "I was killed," he began. "In an accident. Remy and I are connected so I went with him...I didn't want to die. Remy saw me burn up, but he forgot and I was hidden in the dark. Then Apocalypse woke me up, and Remy let me out. Now we are together."

Bobby was silent for a moment. "What are we going to do?" he asked mostly to himself.

Rafael began emptying the pockets of Gambit's coat. He uncovered rubber bands, a purple tennis ball, a notebook, a dog biscuit which he fed to Rothko, and stacked several decks of playing cards on the floor. He picked one pack up and opened it. "Would you like to play a game?" he asked.

Bobby stared at him, then let himself defrost. "What do you want to play?"

"I don't know any games," Rafael said, and held the deck out to Bobby. "Will you teach me one?"

Slowly, Bobby reached out and took the cards. "If this is a joke, it's a very elaborate one," Bobby told him. Rafael looked up at him guilelessly. "Okay. How about Go Fish?"

"There's fish in the lake," Rafael told him. "But I haven't caught one yet."

Bobby sat on the floor and dealt the cards, then placed the remainder of the deck on the floor between them. Bobby explained the game and put the fanned hand of cards into Rafael's hands. "Now you ask if I've got anything that will match what you've got in your hand."

It was a very bizarre game. It was remarkably easy to tell what Rafael was thinking by the expressions on his face. He was delighted to be told to "go fish" and believed himself to be winning the game based on the amount of cards he'd accumulated.

"Listen, Rafe. I should really take you to a doctor," Bobby told him.

"Doctor Reyes?" Rafael asked, excited. "Remy likes her. He likes her a lot, he talks about her all the time. Doctor Cece is so smart. Doctor Cece is so kind. Doctor Cece is a real hero."

Bobby raised his eyebrows. "You don't say? You're very forthcoming. Not like your-twin."

Rafe grinned. "They were kissing," he hissed.

"Oh, this is good," Bobby said. "Okay, tell me something else. What does Remy think about...about me, for example?"

Rafael set his cards down. "Remy says you have a kind heart. You are a real friend."

Bobby folded his cards. "Really?" he asked, flattered. "Does he think I'm funny?"

Rafael shook his head. "No. He does get mad at you though. He's jealous."

This was news to Bobby. "Jealous? Of me?"

"Yes. He wishes he was more like you."

"This is all _very_ interesting. Anything else you'd like to divulge...? Oh, wait. How long do we have until Remy...comes back?"

Rafe pondered. "Not long. He's-collecting his thoughts. He's not feeling good."

"I know that. I thought he had medicine."

"It's not working," Rafe said. "It's making him sicker. I told him."

"Then we should really get him some help," Bobby told Rafe. "He should have told us. About being sick, and about you."

Rafael rolled his eyes. "I know," he said with exasperation. "But he's scared. Scared of a lot of things."

"Like what?"

"Like being sent away. Like facing his destiny."

Bobby was reminded of the diary. "What destiny?" he said, looking at the leather-bound tome.

"The reason we exist," Rafe said, opening the diary.

Rafael removed a loose page from the diary and handed it to Bobby. He pointed: "It's right here. Our purpose. Destroy this man. Sinister."

* * *

><p>Remy blinked slowly as the world swam back into focus. When he opened his eyes, he saw Bobby staring at him.<p>

"Remy?" Bobby asked.

Remy dragged his hands through his hair. He was sitting on his bedroom floor. Rothko walked over and licked his face. "I could really use that aspirin now," Remy said.

Bobby stood and smacked Remy in the head.

"Ow!" Remy exclaimed. "What was that for?"

"What the hell, Remy!" Bobby yelled. He smacked Remy again. "You idiot!"

"Stop it!" Remy said, throwing up his arms to protect his head.

"Why can't you just tell the truth for once?" Bobby continued to yell.

Remy risked a glance at Bobby from under the shelter of his arms. "The truth about what?" he asked hesitantly. Inside, he was thinking: _uh oh_.

"Oh, I don't know...how about the _other person you have living in your head_!" Bobby punched Remy in the bicep with his knuckles. "You really are completely crazy! You do the same stupid things over and over again and expect it to turn out different!"

Remy rubbed his arm where Bobby had hit him. "I-I couldn't tell you!" Remy said.

"Why the hell not?" Bobby asked.

"What would have happened if I did?" Remy cried in frustration. "What would happen to him? I have to protect him!"

"You can't go around-_possessed_!" Bobby replied heatedly.

"I'm not possessed! He's my brother!" Remy yelled back. "You don't know what I've been through. If he hadn't been there for me...all that time in that cell! I would have gone completely insane!"

"You are insane!" Bobby replied.

Remy shook his head impatiently. "He takes over if it gets too bad. He can handle it. He's stronger than me. But as far as life experience goes, he's still a child."

"Yeah, I gathered that. I've been playing Go Fish with him for the last hour!"

"That was-nice of you. I've taught him some things, so don't let him pull one over on you. He knows more than he lets on."

"Well, maybe the two of you aren't so different after all."

Remy frowned. "He also doesn't consider de consequences, think things through all de way."

"And you do?"

"I at least I knew not to kill de Antiquary. Rafe just reacted. He was de one who killed de man. He didn't realize we needed The Antiquary to survive, that we'd be trapped in dat cell or die trying to escape. We'd bot' have died if you hadn't found us."

Bobby crouched back on his heels. "Well, what are you going to do now, Remy?" he asked. "If you won't come forward with this, I will."

"Don't...please," Remy said, suddenly desperate.

"We can figure something out," Bobby said, holding out his hands. "We'll ask Hank. He's the smart one, remember?"

Remy slid his hands into his hair and stared at the floor. "I need some time."

"Remy..." Bobby said warningly.

"I can only handle one disaster at a time. I need t'go talk t'Belle. See her face to face."

"No, Gambit," Bobby said firmly.

"Please, Bobby," Remy beseeched, staring him in the eye. "I've all ready lost our bet, you don't have to keep saying no."

"This isn't about our stupid bet," Bobby told him.

"I'm asking you as a friend. Please let me go see Belle."

Bobby hesitated. "What will you do if you're really the father?"

Remy rubbed his hands together nervously. "It's not really a matter of having a choice. One less thing t'decide, I guess. I'll support Belle, no matter what. But I have to make sure she's okay. It won't do for a kid to have two crazy parents."

Bobby sighed. "All right. But I have a limit."

"Are we negotiating again?"

"I'll give you three days," Bobby told him. "Then you get your ass back here and start talking."

Remy said: "A week."

"No!" Bobby yelled. "I can't keep a secret that long!"

Remy rubbed the scar on his littlest finger. "How about until Wednesday?" he bartered. "I have to be back by then anyway. I promised Idie."

Bobby lowered his shoulders. "Okay, fine."

"Uhm...one last thing..." Remy said, looking away.

"What!"

"Do you mind watching Rothko while I'm gone?" Remy said, a note of pleading in his voice.

Bobby frowned at him. "On one condition."

"What?"

"That you take back calling me a people pleasing pushover."

Remy smiled weakly. "Okay, you're not a pushover. You're just a real friend."

* * *

><p><em>Next time: Sadbit in Seattle. Play time is over kiddies...it gets real dark from here. Bring a flashlight.<em>


	35. Stranded

_There's broken glass all around my feet  
>Laid my plan so carelessly<br>What's the story  
>With my old friends<br>Drunk and lonely  
>To the end<br>How I love 'em all  
>As the days slip by<br>And they're all following my lead  
>Oh, why does the rain fall cold<br>When I'm stranded  
>And I'm starry-eyed<br>_-Stranded, The Walkmen

Gambit walked through the Seattle rain without direction or purpose. He'd found himself in Washington State not quite knowing how he'd come to be there. After what he'd discovered in New Mexico, he was compelled to find something that was the complete opposite of the harsh, dry climate of the desert. He never made it to San Francisco, California. Without Claire, he couldn't see the point of going. He'd wanted to share the experience, to be completely new with someone; to be whole.

For that bright moment he'd been happy. There was a chance to restart with her in San Francisco. He could reinvent himself as the man he wanted to be. But Claire had still been hesitant to leave Millstone. She didn't like to take risks. Remy never saw the risks, only the rewards. Her doubts had made him feel conflicted and fearful. She didn't understand his urgency, his need to keep moving. Gambit didn't understand it entirely either only that he felt he was being pursued, hunted. He had been suddenly struck with the idea that he was being watched and the watcher was close; so close, in fact, that he had gotten into Gambit's mind. Gambit then became possessed with the visions. When he closed his eyes he saw endless dark tunnels and streams of blood. He was being hunted there too, and his side screamed in pain from an unseen wound. The more fearful he became, the less control he had over his powers. They were no longer obeying him and they flared dangerously out of control. Now he was completely isolated by his fears and his own mutancy.

Gambit first went east as Greycrow had suggested even though it went against Gambit's every instinct to continue onward and not go back. He found the Ryking Institute in Alamogordo, Arizona. It was a low compound nestled in a desert valley. Gambit could surmise from its architecture that the compound's structure was largely underground. In his mind, he could look down upon the building and deduce the layout based on what he knew of construction; where the support structure lay, where the building's utilities would be placed. Even without an architectural rendering, he could plot out how he would get in and out of the compound unnoticed.

If he'd been more confident in his control, the job would have gone more smoothly. That he was doing the work of two Guild thieves, being both the diversion and the take, was taxing enough. With his powers misfiring he nearly mistimed the explosion that interrupted the electricity for the precious few seconds he needed to get past the security cameras before the backup power came on. It took him twice as long as it would have taken his cousin Emil to hack into the hospital's database. Once inside the database, he entered a blank query and retrieved the names of every patient in the Ryking Institute. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but then he spied a name. The same name for whom the hospital was named: Ryking.

What he learned about Carter Ryking terrified him. He read through the man's records. The patient's symptoms were a litany of fear: _paranoia...depression...impulsive self-destructive behavior..._

_ Moments of psychosis...extreme anger...resulting in a lack of control..._

Gambit didn't want to read any more. It read like a description of what he was going through himself. _Am I insane? _he thought. _Do I belong here?_

Carter Ryking was possessed of formidable powers which he was unable to control. Ryking was kept in a sedated state in his cell. Gambit saw the mechanics of Ryking's imprisonment. "Bio-mechanical containment" said the report. Gambit felt as if he were being restrained himself, his chest was constricted and it was difficult to breathe. There was no way he was going to submit to being imprisoned, contained, kept sedated in a dark cell. Gambit read the name of the diagnosing doctor: Charles Xavier.

The name ignited such intense fear in Gambit's mind that he momentarily lost control. But wasn't that the name of the doctor in New York? The one who was supposed to be helping mutants? This was a trap! As the room around him began to disintegrate in a furor of sparks and explosions, Gambit made his escape. It was messy and disastrous, but he would do anything to get away. He began to run and kept running until he ran out of U.S. soil.

Now on the streets of Seattle and battered by the endless rain, he was homeless and rattled, muttering and at times ranting to himself. On some level he was aware that he now looked the part of a madman. He needed shelter, food, sleep, and a shower that didn't consist of cold battering rain. His coat had failed to protect him from the elements.

_Attaches meaning/importance to transitory objects..._ That had been in Ryking's file too. But Gambit could not bring himself to discard his coat or his playing cards. They were the only things that meant anything to him now.

_Strong feelings of emptiness... _It was easy to feel alone when there was nothing in his life but the things he carried along with him. And the things he'd used to fill the void, the stealing, the alcohol, and the sex, that was only temporary. Just like everything else.

_ Extreme fear of abandonment... _Well, it wasn't any wonder why Claire wouldn't want to be with him; why Greycrow had sent him away. Gambit had stayed with Candra even as he wanted to flee from her, only to have her cast him aside when he was no longer useful. Just as his father had done.

_ Hypersensitivity to criticism or perceived criticism... _Jean-Luc hadn't been wrong, there was no way Remy could measure up to his father's standards. Candra even had told him he was nothing.

_ Unstable self-image... _He was good. Then he was evil. There was a reason he was called _Le Diable Blanc_, after all.

_ Suicidal and self-harming behaviors... _ Gambit found himself on a bridge over Lake Union staring blankly out over the water. The evening was gray, the still water the color of slate. It was hard to summon up any emotion. A small part of himself believed that he was all ready dead.

There was a telephone in a bright yellow box on the bridge. A sign nearby asked him if he needed help. Gambit opened the yellow box and looked at the phone receiver inside. The receiver cord hung limply, severed from the phone. The sign inside read: Out of Order. Gambit laughed bitterly at first then lapsed into hysteria. The headlights of a vehicle swept over him.

He looked up from the tangle of rain-soaked hair at the vehicle. A man was stepping from it. Gambit recognized the car as a police cruiser, the man as a sheriff's deputy. He had the irrational thought that Pollard had somehow found him, tracked him down from New Orleans. He was now here to snag Gambit off the streets at last and send pieces of him back to his father Jean-Luc. Gambit stepped backwards, closer to the bridge railing.

"You need some help there, son?" the deputy called. His partner had also stepped from the cruiser, holding a flashlight. "Come on over here so we can talk."

It wasn't Pollard after all, Gambit realized. It was just another cop. Gambit knew well enough that you couldn't trust law enforcement. He didn't want to end up back in a cell. Gambit felt the railing against the small of his back. He sagged against it, mentally exhausted.

"You want to come in out of the rain?" the sheriff's deputy continued. "Let's just have a seat in the car. You got someone we can call? I bet you've got some folks wondering where you've got to."

Gambit shook his head. He began to sidle away. The other officer was walking in a wide arc, hoping to block off Gambit's exit.

"Hey, son," the deputy called again, trying to distract him. "It'll be all right. Just step away from the side now."

Gambit bolted past the second officer and fled down the length of the bridge. He heard the officers running back to their vehicle, the twin door slams. Now they would chase him. Once off the bridge, he fled down the rain-slicked city streets. He passed warehouses and storage units, office buildings, and strip malls. Gambit came to a stumbling halt when he neared a residential area. Families were inside their homes, having dinner, watching television. He turned away. There was a church. He sat on the front steps and tried to catch his breath. Gambit could go inside and find shelter there for a short time. But why wouldn't the Church cast him out as well...for turning his back on his vows? There would be no reconciliation, no penance, no forgiveness, or redemption. He was damned, damned, and damned.

Shakily, he regained his feet. The cruiser reappeared at the end of the street and began creeping towards him, its tires hissing on the wet pavement. _Stay away_, he thought at it, and the tires exploded. He gasped and the security light over the church door shattered into a million hot sparks. Gambit raised his arms to protect himself from the flying debris. His hands were aglow.

"Stop!" cried one of the officers as he stepped from the vehicle. He had his firearm trained on Gambit now.

The rain sizzled and evaporated when it hit Gambit's skin. Energy crackled over his body and hopped across the wet cement in blinding arcs.

"Get on the ground, now!" the deputy shouted. "Get down!"

Gambit took a sliding step backward. He looked at the officer's weapon. The firearm shattered in bright hot light and the officer screamed. There was a spray of blood, flesh, and bone and the man clutched his ruined arm to his chest. The other officer fired twice. Gambit felt the impact in his chest and shoulder. He folded over in pain. There was another explosion, and the police cruiser was lifted from the street to land in a blazing heap of molten metal and shattering glass. Gambit ran, trailing destruction as he fled.

This area was spotted with abandoned houses and empty factories. He ran through the vacant streets and down a trash-strewn alley. He came upon an empty theater overtaken by homeless, vagrants, drunks, or drugged. He slid through the broken back door. He touched his chest where he had been shot. One bullet had passed through entirely and the wound miraculously healed. The other bullet was still inside, burning a hole inside of him like a tiny bright star. He sagged onto the filthy floor. He felt the light grow brighter and begin to consume him. The effort of trying to contain it was agony. Gambit put his head to the floor. He was in the aisle of empty seats facing an empty gray screen. He looked up at the blank tattered screen. He'd never once watched a movie, seen the lights dance across the screen as someone else's life played out in the surrounding darkness. Now it was just the too bright light coming from him flashing across the blank wall. The end of his life in light and sound.

There was a noise from behind him. The sound of a foot purposefully sliding across the floorboards. He drew a breath to cry a warning and turned. His brother Henri was standing behind him. Gambit convulsed as the waves of energy overcame him.

Henri had been behind him all this time, following him. Gambit hadn't been alone after all...his brother was there.

* * *

><p><em>Next time: Gambit's train of thought derails and takes out several innocent bystanders.<em>


	36. Rolling In The Deep

_There's a fire starting in my heart  
>Reaching a fever pitch, it's bringing me out the dark<br>Finally I can see you crystal clear  
>Go 'head and sell me out and I'll lay your ship bare<br>See how I leave with every piece of you  
>Don't underestimate the things that I will do<br>There's a fire starting in my heart  
>Reaching a fever pitch<br>And it's bringing me out the dark  
>The scars of your love remind me of us<br>They keep me thinking that we almost had it all  
>The scars of your love, they leave me breathless<br>I can't help feeling  
>We could have had it all<br>-_Rolling in the Deep, Adele

BellaDonna was in a great deal of pain. There had been blood, lots of blood, when she'd been pulled from the cold bath water. She thought she heard Tante Mattie's voice speaking the soft cadence of a healing spell. But it was just her words and not her voice, but a man's. He was kneeling on her bed beside her as he spoke, one of Tante Mattie's spell books open on his lap. Belle swam in and out of consciousness, but she was aware that something had gone horribly wrong. Something had been stolen from her. She tried put her hands to her stomach, but the man lightly pushed her arms aside.

She moaned feebly and her arm moved, her hand flopping uselessly toward her nightstand. If she could reach her blade, she could protect herself. Another hand grasped her own and held it tightly.

"Belle?" spoke a voice. Her heart was filled with sudden longing and intense sorrow. Tears began to roll down her cheeks. He'd returned at last.

"Remy," said the spell-caster, "let her rest."

Remy's other hand smoothed Belle's unruly hair back from her face. "Who did this to you, _mon coeur_?" he asked quietly, ignoring the admonition.

"She's very fortunate to be alive," the spell-caster said. Belle knew him now, New Orleans' protector, the sorcerer Jericho Drumm. "It's damned lucky I had these books."

"D'you here that, _chere_?" Remy asked her. "Tante Mattie is lookin' out for you. Your own guardian angel."

"Remy..." Belle mumbled. She needed to tell him about the baby, about what happened.

Remy drew a shaking breath. "When I find out who did this, Belle, I will kill him. I swear it."

"I need you to calm down," Jericho told Remy.

Remy stared at Jericho with fiery intensity. "You want me to be _calm_? Would you look at her?" he said, his voice rising. "She's been butchered! _Non_, not butchered! A butcher wouldn't do this-_mutilation_!"

Jericho raised his hands in a supplicating gesture. "I'm going to ask you one more time, Remy," he said calmly. "And if you don't listen, I'm going to use force."

Remy put his forehead down on the pillow beside Belle's head. His breathing was ragged. Belle tried to reach for him but her arms would not obey. She needed to tell him what happened, how she'd fought the monster. That even now the monster's blood and hair was beneath her fingernails. Belle needed to show him so he could know who did this. She moaned.

Remy looked up and took her hand in his own, pressed the backs of her fingers to his lips.

"Do you think you can keep it together while I go get you a sedative?" Jericho asked Remy.

"No, no sedatives," Remy said hoarsely.

"I insist."

"I can't think, remember things. It makes me too slow," Remy said.

"You aren't going to have a choice in this matter, Remy. Stay and look after BellaDonna. I'll be right back."

Remy knelt at her bedside, still holding her hand. "Belle, I know I can't made dis right..."

But he could, she knew. Belle knew he could save their baby from the monster. Her fingers twitched in his grasp. "Bring her..." she whispered. _Bring her back_, she implored with her eyes.

"Who else knew about de baby?" he asked, his voice raw.

Belle rocked her head slightly. There was no one, and yet somehow the monster had known. He must be close, he must have found the letter. She was fearful for Remy's safety. What if the monster struck him down next?

"Did you see who did this to you? What did he look like?" Remy asked, his voice wavered with withheld emotion. Anger, she thought, or perhaps misery. Maybe he had wanted this baby as much as she did. Belle nodded weakly.

BellaDonna knew who had attacked her while she was in the bath. She'd stabbed him over and over again with the blade that was never far from her side. It was his blood in the bath mixed with her own. And when the knife was torn from her grasp, she continued her assault with nails and teeth. Belle pulled her hand free of Remy's grasp and stretched toward her nightstand. Her black carbon fiber push blade was there. She fumbled for it, and Remy took it up in his own hand. She let her fingers curl around his, pressing the handle of the blade into his palm. The world was drifting away as the pain began to ebb. Tante Mattie's spell would have seen to it; rest was the best medicine.

"Tell me," Remy begged.

Belle curled her fingers around his hand, made him see her own blood-stained nails. "Monster..." she whispered. "_Une b__ête noire_..."

* * *

><p>The watcher was moving slowly; he'd been wounded very recently. Despite his rapid healing ability, he was still in pain. He consoled himself with the knowledge that he'd eviscerated the hellcat bitch in the end. There was no way BellaDonna could have survived the attack, not without a miracle. The other piece of the puzzle was in place, the girl Gambit seemed to be so fond of. She was the trap he needed to ensnare Gambit and hold him to the watcher's will. Grabbing the girl hadn't been easy. He'd gained a few cuts from that encounter as well.<p>

The watcher followed Death at his slow pace and lost track of the Horseman shortly after he entered the forest. Death, or Rafael as he called himself, was dressed peculiarly in a dark tunic over breeches, tall boots and a cloak. He kept the hood of the cloak pulled up over his white hair and disappeared into shadow. The watcher proceeded to the lakeside, expecting to find Death there. The lake was still and silent. The watcher became aware that no crickets or frogs chirped nearby, there was only the faint lapping of water against the shore.

The watcher drew a sharp breath and turned when he felt a soft tap on his shoulder. Death stood just behind him, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Tag," he said in his dry rasp of a voice. "You're it."

The watcher took a step backward. This close to Death, he could see the glow of the man's red eyes lighting up the curve of his cheekbones and bridge of his nose. His teeth flashed white in his dark face. There was a crest over his heart, a red sun on a dark field. The watcher squared his shoulders and rose to his full height to tower over the man.

"You've come," the watcher said. "Have you considered my offer?"

"I have," Death said. "I've decided...I would like you to help me fulfill my purpose."

"And you've decided—-on your own?"

Death nodded once. "I did."

"You must want this very badly."

"Oh, yes," Death's reply little more than an exhalation of breath.

The watcher was delighted, but he kept himself very still. "And your-brother-doesn't know about this?"

"No," Death said, his voice very quiet. "It's a secret."

"Very good," the watcher said. "I'm quite proud of you. Are you prepared then, to come along with me?"

Death shook his head slightly. "No, not yet. I have a plan."

The watcher did not approve of this. "Do you?" he said, his voice firm.

Death's expression was bemused, his mouth was curled upwards at the corners. His eyes flared brightly in the darkness. "I know how to destroy him..." he whispered. "I saw the answer in Remy's mind. He doesn't realize he all ready knows."

The watcher grew excited. "What will we do?"

Death reached under his cloak. "Take these," he told the watcher and dropped several vials into the watcher's outstretched palm. "You'll need them all."

"_Versed_," the watcher read from the label.

"It makes you slow," Death said, his eyelids drooping. "And forgetful. Remy hates it."

"Where did you get this?" the watcher asked.

"Five-finger discount," Death replied, holding up his hand and flexing his fingers.

"And what do you intend for me to do with this?"

Death grinned, and a playing card appeared in his hand; the King of Spades. "Go fish," Death replied.

* * *

><p>Gambit found himself at The Jean Grey School, slipping through the back door and into the kitchen. He knew it was Wednesday and that he had to do something on Wednesday, but he couldn't remember what. The events of the past forty-eight hours had been reduced to a blur. He'd left for New Orleans very early Saturday morning to talk to BellaDonna. When he finally arrived at the Boudreaux home, sneaking through Belle's window as he had so many times in his youth, he found Belle unconscious in her bath. The water had been bright red with blood. Luckily, Gambit had his phone. He'd remembered to charge it. Doctor Drumm was on his recent callers list. Doctor Drumm had Tante Mattie's books on healing spells. Belle's life was spared.<p>

Gambit often wondered why he could think so clearly during times of fast-paced crisis, but fall apart at the seams when given the time to process the emotions that went along with the crisis. It was just easier to move from one catastrophe to the next. Maybe that's why he preferred being an X-Man over anything else. The moment Belle was out of immediate danger was the moment Remy felt his hold on reality slipping away. He was given the option to take the sedatives Drumm offered him or commit himself to an in-patient program at the local facility. Remy didn't like either offer on the table, but opted for the sedatives. Before he'd slid into a loose-limbed twilight state, he'd at least had the sense to write down what he needed to do when he got back to New York.

He consulted his notebook. It read: "_1.) CC. 2.) Talk. 3.) Help. _" Oh, yes. It was all perfectly clear now, but he still had the feeling he was forgetting something. The first point he could cross of his list. He'd been to see Cecelia upon his arrival in New York as Drumm had insisted. Cecelia was the voice of reason, his contact to reality. Gambit wasn't entirely sure what had happened when he got to her apartment, but he had the distinct impression that he would need to apologize tomorrow.

Gambit walked through the school halls. It was late evening. The students would all be either in their rooms, the library, or messing around in the rec room. It was quiet and the hall lights were dimmed. There was a light on in the teachers' lounge and Gambit gravitated towards it. He found the lounge empty. He moved to the cubicle they all shared and sat. He stared for a moment at all the photographs that had been pinned to the walls. Hazily, he reached into his jacket and removed a black and white photo; the sonogram from Belle's letter. He tacked it up on the wall and stared at it. Gambit picked up a pen from the old Xavier School For Gifted Youngsters mug and clicked it open. He gazed at his notebook, hoping to jog his memory. He put his hand on top of his head.

The lounge door opened and Gambit turned. Rogue was standing in the open doorway with a mug of tea in her hand. He regarded her for several moments. She was wearing jeans and a low cut knit top. Gambit didn't care for the top, it could have come from Emma Frost's wardrobe. Rogue's hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Gambit really didn't like her hair in a ponytail either. He liked her hair loose and wavy, but she never wore it that way anymore.

"You're here late, sugah," Rogue said, her voice light. "Haven't seen you around lately."

"It's Wednesday," he told her.

"Supposed t'be your night t'cook, remember?" she asked, her mouth pinching at the corner.

Gambit rubbed his hand on top of his head. "Oh..." he said, staring at the notebook. "I forgot."

Rogue set her mug down on the oval table. "Everything okay, sugah?"

Gambit shook his head slowly from side to side. "No. I need to-," he looked at his notebook. "Talk."

Rogue pulled over one of the rolling office chairs, the wheel squeaking in protest. She sat next to Gambit. "Ah hoped you would," she told him. "Ah'm glad. Ah've been wanting t'talk t'you for awhile."

"I need help," he told her. "I can't do this on my own." He looked up from the notebook. She was very close to him. Her hand reached out and took his hand, the one that still held the pen. Gambit looked down. It was strange to see her bare hand pressed against his. It made him nervous. He pulled away.

"Ah'll help," she told him. "Did you bring it?"

He blinked at her. "Bring what?"

"The diary?" she asked. "Ah mean, Ah still have part of it." Rogue straightened and turned to reach into her back pocket.

"No," Gambit said, shaking his head. "No, not de diary."

Rogue looked at him with a perplexed expression. "It's okay, Remy. Ah know...Ah know you might feel hurt. But-if you knew Irene like Ah did, you'd know she'd never have hurt you on purpose. Ah could tell you-."

"No!" Gambit said standing abruptly. "I don't want to talk about that!"

"Please, Remy," she said holding out her hand. "Ah want t'know...maybe we can figure it out together-."

Gambit pushed himself away from Rogue and the cubicle. "It's not about you!" he yelled at her as he walked to the open door. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears. Gambit felt ill, though to a lesser degree than what he'd experienced on Friday. Now his headache returned with brute force. "Stay away from me," he said as a parting shout. He needed to remove himself from this situation before he did something he'd regret.

Rogue was following him. "You said you wanted t'talk!" she called.

"I want someone who will actually _listen_ t'me!" he responded, his voice breaking. He headed toward the stairs and the wing where the instructors' rooms were. He needed to find Bobby. Bobby would listen, he would understand. Gambit wouldn't have to explain. Gambit started up the stairs. Rogue was still behind him, following. Why wouldn't she leave? She had always left him before. He stumbled on one of the steps and caught himself on the railing. Gambit sat on a riser and put his head in his hands. His thoughts were roiling inside his mind, the ones he didn't care to think about. Candra...the wedding...the tribunal...

He shook his head, trying to scatter the thoughts. The Antiquary...the bullying...the streets... No, that was too far, he thought. He groaned quietly. Make it stop. Then it was dark. There was the closet, where they'd left him...

Rogue's hand closed on his forearm firmly. "Remy, sugah, are you okay? What about the closet?"

Gambit jerked his arm from her grasp. Don't touch me.

He clambered up the staircase. He needed to find Robert. He went to Bobby's room and opened the door. Bobby's door was never locked, it was always open, but Bobby wasn't there. Why wasn't he there? Gambit stumbled backwards from the empty room. How could he be gone?

"Remy, stop," Rogue said.

"Give me room t'think!" he yelled at her. "I need space!"

"That's enough. You've been given space...Now Ah need you t'calm down."

"For once in your life would you listen to me!" he shouted.

"Ah'm tryin' to, but you're rambling. I don't understand what you're tellin' me. You're out of sorts," she told him. Her cellphone was in her hand.

Gambit whirled on her. "_I'm_ out of sorts!" he exclaimed incredulously, and suddenly his thoughts were focused sharp and narrow. "Look at you! You're someone else entirely! Was being _Rogue_ so horrible? So bad you had to take on someone else's fake memories of a dream world?"

Rogue said coldly: "This ain't about me, remember?"

"No, it's about Legacy. You'd rather be her than you. Now I have t'see some _ghost_ walk around wearing your face. The person I loved is dead and replaced with an impostor!"

"You need t'get over it Remy," Rogue said. "Move on. Ah'm not the same person Ah was, it's true. But Ah can't go back. We have t'move forward."

"You want to move forward, do you? When all you've done is haunt me about that stupid diary!" Gambit exclaimed. "Why can't you leave sleeping dogs lie?"

"You can't go on ignoring it!" Rogue answered hotly. "Pretending it doesn't exist, hiding under the covers like some child!"

Gambit pushed past her toward the staircase. "_I'm _a child? See what a sullen snit you get into when you don't get your way. I suppose it's my fault, really. For lettin' you treat me like you do. For always givin' in t'you. Made you a spoiled brat."

"You weren't ever willing to give me anything Ah didn't have to beg for! That Ah didn't have ta learn about the hard way!" Rogue yelled at his back.

"Now you're wit' someone who doesn't give an inch, so we'll see how that works out! The only reason you want t'pry into my life is for your own selfish reasons!"

"Ah'm the selfish one?" Rogue shouted. "You hide everything you are...your wife...Sinister...your illness! You put everyone around you in danger with your secrets!"

"You never cared enough to get t'know me!" he turned at the top of the stairs and pointed an accusing finger at her. "It was _always_ about you and what _you_ wanted!"

From the foyer below came an angry voice. "We're running a school here, not filming a damned soap opera! Keep your voices down or take it outside!" Wolverine shouted.

Shadowcat paced down the hallway. "Rogue, I got your app alert. Is everything okay?" Her eyes nervously darted from Rogue to Gambit.

"They're just having a spat, Kitty," Wolverine said as he began to mount the stairs. "Ignore them."

"Gambit's havin' himself a...fit," Rogue told Wolverine.

Gambit jerked as if struck by a blow. He wanted to throttle her. Why did all the people he counted on leave...betray him? Cecelia hadn't wanted to talk to him. And where was Bobby? He had done everything right this time. Why was it all falling apart?

A hand clasped his shoulder gently. "Let's all calm down," said a soothing voice. "Everyone can just-."

Gambit whirled, his heart in his throat. "Get away!" he cried, and pushed with his powers. "Monster!" Explosively heated air forced Beast back into the dark hallway from where he had emerged. White hot energy crackled over Gambit's body and rebounded off the walls, scorched the carpet, and drove everyone away. His powers were flaring. But that was impossible, he thought. This can't be happening! I'm not a twenty-one year old kid! How old was he, anyway? Gambit tried to think, his hands pushing through the hair at his temples. Forty-something, maybe fifty, he thought if he counted the time he'd spent locked up in The Antiquary's chambers. No, he remembered, he had a birthday recently. He was twenty-six. But then he'd given up some years to Joanna so she could be an adult again. Doctor Strange had de-aged him. How old was he?

_I'm this many..._

Gambit cried out: "God, help me! Tell me what t'do! Why did you make me this way?"

Gambit felt a hand lightly touch his face. He looked up to see Rogue's eyes looking into his own. He felt the pull of her powers begin to drain him.

"No!" he shouted and backed up. His foot missed the first riser of the staircase and he fell backwards. Rogue had gripped him by his jacket and she was falling too. They fell over the banister together. Gambit hit the ground first with Rogue landing on top of him. He gasped in pain. From above came the blast of several explosions. Fragments of wood and plaster rained down on them. Rogue was pulling herself away with a wordless cry of distress. Gambit felt the blackness closing down on him. He tried to fight back. He felt the brightness build inside of himself, trying to break free.

"Remy?" a voice called.

Gambit turned his head. Idie was standing in the foyer in her white dress, her book and Bible clutched to her chest. It was Wednesday. He remembered.

"I was counting on you," she said.

Then Gambit drew back from the world, into the darkness, and slammed the door shut.

* * *

><p><em>Next time: Robert's Rules of Order: Bobby Drake, large and in charge.<em>

_Thanks so much for all the kind reviews! It's very encouraging to hear your feedback.  
>Camille: thanks for the music recommendation. I'm listening to Dog Problems now. How fitting since there's so many dog (and cat) references in this story. I've heard some of fun, and I think We Are Young is on some TV commercial now.<br>_


	37. The State That I Am In

_Oh, love of mine, would you condescend to help me  
>'Cause I'm stupid and blind<br>Oh, and desperation is the devil's work  
>It is the folly of a boy's empty mind<br>And now I'm feeling dangerous  
>Riding on city buses for a hobby is sad<br>Why don't you lead me to a living end  
>I promise that I'll entertain my crippled friend<br>My crippled friend  
>I gave myself to sin<br>I gave myself to providence  
>And I've been there and back again<br>The state that I am in  
><em>-The State That I Am In, Belle & Sebastian

Bobby was standing on the back patio with Warbird. They were on a date. Not because Bobby had said 'yes' to something he didn't want to do, but because he'd asked her out. It was sort of a last-second, impulsive thing to do. Warbird had become significantly less aggressive since she began believing Bobby was Gay for Gambit. Bobby was not a homosexual, he liked women. All kinds of women, including intergalactic avian bodyguards. Bobby wondered what his father would have to say about this woman. Probably nothing, because Warbird would have chopped his head off if he so much as uttered a single insult. Bobby had taken Warbird out to dinner. She was not wearing her Shi'ar uniform for the first time in Bobby's recollection, but a dress. That helped with the whole intimidation thing too since three-quarters of her body wasn't exposed and completely in Bobby's face. They'd then gone for a walk around the lake and ended up on the patio.

"You're...different," Warbird told him, cocking her head to the side.

"Well," Bobby began, plucking at his shirt, "Jean-Paul picked out this out for me. I don't really like it."

"No. Not your clothing. You're different from the males back home. The Shi'ar don't have a word for-modesty."

"Well, that explains some things," Bobby said.

"You have every reason to be proud...boastful," Warbird told him and put her hand on his forearm. "You are very powerful." Her fingers tightened and she moved closer.

"I don't like to brag," he said, looking into her strange eyes.

She smiled. "You're humble. This is another Earth word I have learned. There is strength in your humility. I see that now."

"Well, I'm a down-to-earth kinda guy." Very lightly, he touched one of the plumes that made up her hair as it fell over her bare shoulder. It was soft. Recalling Remy's musings about Shi'ar anatomy, he felt his face grow hot and was glad it was dark out.

"Yes," she said quietly. "I like that phrase. It is comfortable to be with you. You do not offer me a challenge...Except when it comes to avoiding my attentions."

"I don't think I'd stand much of a challenge if we're going to duke it out," Bobby responded and let his hand rest on her shoulder. Her feathers tickled the back of his hand. "Honestly, you're pretty intimidating."

Warbird looked up at him through her eyelashes, her expression almost coy. "Perhaps you'd prefer a meeker sort of woman?"

"No...No, I don't think so," Bobby told her. "That's beginning to dawn on me."

She put her fingertips to the back of his neck. "I have come to some new conclusions as well."

"Oh good, because that thing you saw with me and Gam-mmph." Her lips met his and Bobby was quiet. She seemed like she was into kissing, so nothing strange about that.

Warbird drew away slightly and spoke against his lips: "Let us feed one another with our mouths."

_Uh oh_, Bobby thought. "Uhm...I'm kinda full, actually."

The light over the patio came on and they drew apart. Wolverine opened the rear entryway door.

"Iceman," Wolverine said. "Get in here."

"What are you, my dad?" Bobby groused.

"There's a problem," he growled.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Gambit," Wolverine said.

Bobby stepped back from Warbird. "Oh, shoot! What day is it? I forgot!" He looked at Warbird. "I'm sorry-I-."

"If you need to see to your friend, go," she told him. "I wouldn't expect you to do otherwise."

Bobby followed Wolverine into the school.

"Sorry to interrupt your potential abduction and ravishment," Wolverine said.

"So, I take it Gambit told you."

"Told me what?" Wolverine asked.

"Uhm...wait. What happened?" Bobby stammered.

"Gambit's gone 'round the bend. He's a total head-case."

Bobby paused. His heart filled with dread. "Oh no. Did he hurt himself? Is everyone okay?"

"Hank's fur will eventually grow back, I'm sure," Wolverine began. "Rogue was a little loopy, but she's come to. And Idie seems more upset Gambit's not taking her to her religion class than anything else."

Bobby ran his hand through his hair. "Oh, geez."

"I hope you can move some numbers around and get the stairway fixed."

"Yeah...but. Okay, did anyone call Doctor Drumm?"

"Who?" Wolverine asked.

Bobby stared at him. "Doctor Drumm...Remy's therapist," he said flatly. "Don't you remember when he told us-."

"I can't keep all these things straight!" Wolverine complained. "I have things to do. You're in charge of H.R., you're supposed to be the one keeping track of this stuff!"

"Honestly, what are you going to do when I leave to become CFO of a multi-national weapons and technology conglomerate!" Bobby said with exasperation.

"What are you talking about?" Wolverine asked. "Never mind. I need you downstairs in the infirmary. Gambit's having himself one of his-what did he call it? _Episodes_. He won't let Hank anywhere near him. Rachel can't reach him. He's been ranting on and on about something he needs to tell you."

Bobby had been following Wolverine as he walked. They took the elevator down to the lower floors under the school. "What did you do with him?"

"We've got him restrained with his powers turned off," Wolverine said. "He really made a mess. I can't have-exploding staff members! It's bad enough we've got Exodus beating down our door."

Once in the infirmary quarters, they found Beast in the observation room. Rogue was there as well holding Gambit's jacket in her arms. Beyond the glass that separated the observation room from the infirmary, Bobby could see Rachel standing over Gambit. He was sitting on the floor, his head between his knees with his arms restrained behind him.

"Not good," Bobby said.

"He's exhibiting withdrawal symptoms," Beast said to Bobby. "Headache, dizziness, erratic heartbeat, nausea...Do you have any idea why he might have stopped taking his medication?"

"He hasn't," Bobby told him. "I've seen him take it."

"Everyday?" Beast asked.

"Well, I'm not with him every second," Bobby said. "Aren't they in his coat?"

Rogue looked somewhat dazed. She hesitated a moment, then unfolded Gambit's long jacket. She began to empty the pockets. Playing cards, gum and candy, a purple tennis ball, string, several pens stolen from the staff lounge, and his wallet and keys were placed on a nearby metal tray. Rogue uncovered two pill bottles, one for allergies and the antipsychotic for Gambit's mood disorder.

"Here," Rogue said and handed the bottle to Beast.

There were only a few pills left in the bottom of the bottle. Beast removed one and dropped it into a nearby vial filled with liquid. The bottom of the vial turned murky white. "Lactose," Beast said.

"What?" Bobby asked.

"Sugar pill," Beast said. "A placebo."

"Great, more sugar. Just what he needs," Wolverine said with his hands on his hips. He stared through the window at Rachel and Gambit.

Beast regarded the bottle. "Why would Doctor Drumm prescribe a placebo?" he asked.

"Maybe you should call him and ask," Bobby said.

Rogue had taken a memo pad from Gambit's jacket. She was looking through the pages thoughtfully.

"Hey," Bobby said. "That's private."

Rogue's eyes flashed up at him, irritation on her face. "Maybe we should phone Doctor Reyes instead? She seems to have an idea of what Gambit's been up to."

_Uh oh_...Bobby thought for the second time that night.

"Hey, you guys," Rachel called from the adjacent room. "We've got a problem here."

* * *

><p>Rogue was in the dark. It wasn't completely dark, she realized as her eyes began to adjust. There was the faintest line of light below, where the door met the floorboards. She was left alone in this dark enclosed space for an immeasurable amount of time. She could not formulate the words to express the loneliness and misery she felt. She cried softly into her pillow. In the darkness, she could hear a radio playing faintly. It was near her head. She didn't understand the words that were spoken, but she could mimic the sounds.<p>

_Partly cloudy overnight, with lows in the high-seventies...tomorrow, hot, with abundant sunshine. High eighty-eight..._

Rogue understood the word 'sunshine.' Tattie would sing her a song about sunshine. Tattie _was_ the sunshine. Rogue did not know about the 'cloudy' part. She had never been outside the house and spent most time in the closet. When the voice stopped speaking, she could hear music. The music brought her comfort. Rogue reached under the pillow beneath her head, searching through the folds of the sheets. She was looking for something...her stuffed doggie, her friend. She couldn't find him. She reached further, pushing the fabric out of the way. She tossed her pillow to the floor where it covered the faint line of light. Where was her doggie? Where did he go? He was gone!

Rogue woke with an inarticulate sound. "Gone doggie no!" she cried.

"Rogue?" Logan was there, seated at her bedside. Rogue blinked in the dim light. She was in the infirmary. When Logan stood, Rogue threw her arms around him and wept into his shoulder. He paused, then hesitantly put his arms around her.

"It's all right, darlin'," he told her.

Rogue was desperate to be touched and held, for any kind of contact at all. She clung to him for several moments before her breathing became less ragged. She forced herself to pull away. She felt embarrassed for the sudden burst of emotion.

"Ah'm...sorry, Logan," she said, wiping her palms across her eyes.

He looked at her with concern. "You going to be okay?"

Rogue could dismiss the mutant abilities she absorbed, but erasing thoughts, especially long-held emotions, was not so easy.

She drew a shaky breath. "Yes. Is Idie okay? Hank?"

Logan nodded. "No one was seriously hurt."

"That's a mercy," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You pick up anything from Gambit we should be worried about?" Logan asked after a moment. "Some of his crazy?"

Rogue shook her head slowly. When she'd touched Gambit, she drew on his powers to siphon off some of his excess energy. She could keep the greater part of his personality at bay, though she had caught a taste of his incoherent thoughts and roiling emotions. She was struck with several sudden memories however. Some recent, but most from some time ago in the past.

"Where is he now?" she asked.

"We've got him in Room Two," Logan told her. "Trussed up, though he wasn't putting up any kind of a fight once Idie showed. He just gave up."

Rogue stood. "Can Ah talk t'him?"

"He ain't sayin' much of anything but nonsense," Logan responded.

Rogue followed Logan to the observation room overlooking Room Two. Rachel was inside the room trying to talk to Remy. Rogue found Hank sitting at a desk, staring at a computer console that was monitoring the fluctuations of Remy's mutant powers. He looked grim and more than a little singed. When he adjusted his glasses, one of the lenses fell out.

"All right, Hank?" she asked.

"It is the smell that's the worst part," he responded morosely. "Burnt fur."

Rogue found Remy's jacket over the back of a chair and picked it up. It was surprisingly heavy. She wrapped her arms around it and felt better.

"Where is Robert? Where did Bobby go?" Remy was asking.

"We'll find him," Rachel said. "Calm down, okay? Do you want something to drink?"

"I needed to talk," Remy said. "I had to tell."

"Sure, you can tell me," Rachel said.

Logan shook his head. "I'm going to go track Drake down," he said. "Maybe he can sort out this mess."

"No...not you!" Remy shouted, but his voice had changed. It was hoarse and ragged. He began to pull against his bonds. "Stay away, Phoenix! I will kill you!"

"Remy, I am _not_ the Phoenix..." Rachel said. "Not anymore."

"He killed my mother...! I'll make him suffer!" Remy had fallen over in his struggle.

"Who killed your mother?" Rachel said. She was surprisingly patient with someone who'd just threatened to kill her. She grabbed the restraint holding Remy's arms behind his back and righted him, then leaned him against the wall.

"Cyclops!" Remy ranted. "He'll be sorry!"

"I'm pretty sure he didn't kill her, Remy," Rachel said soothingly.

"He did...! He did!" Amazingly, Remy seemed to break down and begin to cry. "She's dead! I'll never see her again!"

"Who's dead?"

"_Maman_..." Remy said miserably.

This didn't make any sense, Rogue thought. Cyclops certainly didn't kill Tante Mattie, and the only other mother Remy could know about was Destiny.

"I'm...sorry to hear she died," Rachel told him. She stood and looked through the window at Hank and Rogue. She shook her head and shrugged. "I think he'd hate it if I tried to go in his head but...What I'm picking up from him is pretty wonky."

Rogue hesitated and risked a glance at Hank. Hank was about to speak when Rogue said: "Go ahead, Rachel. He'll forgive you."

Rachel gave her a determined nod then turned back to Remy.

Logan returned with Bobby in tow.

Bobby took a look through the window and said: "Not good."

"He's exhibiting withdrawal symptoms," Beast said to Bobby. "Headache, dizziness, erratic heartbeat, nausea...Do you have any idea why he might have stopped taking his medication?"

"He hasn't," Bobby told him. "I've seen him take it."

"Everyday?" Beast asked.

"Well, I'm not with him every second," Bobby responded. "Aren't they in his coat?"

Rogue was still holding Gambit's coat. Mechanically, she unfolded it and began to empty the pockets into a nearby tray. She found two pill bottles and handed one of them to Hank.

"Here," she said.

Hank turned away to study the pill bottle. Rogue stared through the glass at Remy and Rachel. Rachel was trying to console Remy, who was telling her he was glad she wasn't the Phoenix. He didn't really want to kill her at all, she seemed nice. After several moments, Rogue heard Hank speak again.

"What?" Bobby asked.

"Sugar pill," Hank said. "A placebo."

"Great, more sugar. Just what he needs," Logan said.

Someone had switched out the pills. Rogue felt a creeping sensation of dread. She turned, feeling as though she were being watched. There was no one behind her.

"Why would Doctor Drumm prescribe a placebo?" Hank asked.

At the mention of a doctor, a guilty and shameful thought floated to the surface of Rogue's mind. One of Remy's more recent memories. She felt her face burn red.

"Maybe you should call him and ask," Bobby was saying.

Rogue riffled through the pockets of the jacket and found a notepad. She opened it to the last few pages.

_Magneto out to get me / rational paranoia - or - BPD paranoia? Discuss_

_Vernon's dog died_

_ Wager/Bobby – telling the "truth" _

_ CC_

Then again: _CC._

There was more, but those two letters kept appearing.

The last line read: _1) CC. 2) Talk. 3) Help._

She knew what CC was now, or rather who: Cecelia Reyes.

_CC know me. _

"Hey," Bobby said to Rogue, interrupting her thoughts. "That's private."

Rogue was surprised at her sudden anger. "Maybe we should phone Doctor Reyes instead? She seems to have an idea of what Gambit's been up to," she snapped.

"Hey, you guys," Rachel called from inside the infirmary. "We've got a problem here."

Bobby was looking at Rogue with a guarded expression on his face. Rogue stepped past him and into the infirmary.

"Rogue," Hank called after her. "Perhaps you should-."

Rogue ignored him and approached Rachel. "What is it?"

Rachel was looking a little pale. "That's not Remy," she said.

Remy was looking up at them both with a mulish expression.

"What?" Rogue asked, astonished. She looked at Rachel who was gazing at Remy with a stern expression on her face. Beads of sweat had appeared on her forehead.

"This feels like possession to me," Rachel said.

Rogue turned back to Remy. "Who are you?" she asked.

Remy's lower lip stuck out. "I don't want to talk to you," he said in a raspy voice. "Go away."

"I could try to pull him out of there..." Rachel began and closed her eyes. "But he's in there pretty deep."

Remy shouted and once again fell over. He was pushing himself across the floor with his heels. "Stop! You're hurting me!" he cried.

Bobby was right behind Rogue. "Uh oh," he said. "Rachel, stop."

Rachel paused and turned to look at Bobby. "Bobby, he's-."

"It's okay," Bobby said.

Remy had his face pressed to the floor. "Owie, owie, owie..."

Bobby walked over and crouched down beside Remy. Bobby sat him upright.

"What's going on?" Logan asked.

"There's another personality in Gambit's mind," Rachel told him.

"What? Like a split personality? Like Legion?" Wolverine asked.

"No, another presence entirely," Rachel said. "Completely separate from Gambit."

Rogue stared at Remy. "Gambit...you listen t'me," she said firmly. She understood these kinds of things. After all, she'd lived with Carol Danvers in her head for ages. "You gotta get back in control."

Rachel said: "He's not responding, Rogue. He's too far gone. I can try to cage this one-."

"No," Bobby said suddenly. "Don't hurt him. He's not a threat."

"What do you know about this, Drake?" Wolverine demanded, pointing at Remy. "What aren't you telling us?"

"Uhm...well..." Bobby began, risking a glance at Remy. A petulant expression had returned to Remy's face.

"Spill it!" Logan said.

"This is-Remy's brother," Bobby said finally. "I told him to tell you-."

"What!" Logan exclaimed.

Rogue felt her heart flip in her chest. "Rafael?" she gasped.

Rafael's eyes flicked to Rogue. He stuck his tongue out at her.

Bobby looked up at Rogue. "You-you know about him?"

Rogue slowly reached toward the back pocket of her jeans. She removed the page she had kept from the diary. She unfolded it carefully and held it out to show Bobby.

"Oh..." Bobby said. "So you know about Destiny too."

Rogue's eyes flashed at Bobby. "How do you know about that?"

Bobby stood. "Well, Remy told me."

Rogue felt a sudden flare of anger. "He told _you_? Why would he tell you? When?"

Bobby's arms extended out to his sides in an expression of helplessness. "Awhile ago, back in New Orleans. And I don't know why he told me...maybe he trusted me!"

"The two of you better start explaining just what the hell is going on! Now!" Logan exclaimed.

"It's complicated..." Bobby said slowly.

Rogue turned to Logan, cutting Bobby off. She had a hard time placing her feelings. Was she jealous of Bobby Drake? "Destiny is Remy's surrogate mother. She gave birth to two sons...Remy-and Rafael."

"I like _Rafe_," Rafael said. "Like what Bobby calls me."

Logan stared at Remy/Rafael with a dumbfounded expression on his face. He then looked up at Bobby. "And how long have you known about this?" he asked, his voice maliciously quiet.

Bobby scratched his head absently. "Uhm...well..."

Logan jabbed his finger into Bobby's chest. "Gambit's a terrible influence on you!"

"That's hardly fair," Bobby said.

"Rafael," Rogue said, holding the diary page out. "Look. You can talk t'me. This is us."

Rafael made a face at her. "No it's not. I don't like you."

Bobby said: "Rafe, that's not very nice."

Rafael looked at the floor. "Sorry," he muttered.

Rogue stared at the back of Rafael's head. "It's not you?" she repeated.

Rafael glanced up at her through his hair. "Can't you tell us apart? Look at it. Remy's the lefty." Rogue turned the page over. In the drawing, Remy was on the left, Rogue on the right. In the drawing, Remy held one child in his left arm.

"Where did this come from?" Rogue asked quietly.

"Remy's book," Rafael said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "It's all that's left. The rest got burned up."

Rogue's heart wrenched painfully.

"Can we talk to Remy?" Bobby asked Rafael.

Rafael shook his head. "No. He's not talking."

"Is he unconscious?" Bobby asked.

"No...just very, very sad. And far away...behind the door," Rafael responded.

"Now what are we going to do?" Logan asked.

Bobby looked up at him, then glanced at Rogue. "You're asking me?"

"You're in charge of H.R., remember?" Logan said. "And you seem to have a handle on what's going on here."

Bobby nodded. "Okay...well, first we need to talk to Doctor Drumm. Remy will have to go to the psych ward on The Raft for now."

"No!" Rafael and Rogue shouted in unison. She felt the diary page crunch in her hand and she wrapped her arms around herself. She couldn't fathom being left alone again in an enclosed place.

Bobby crouched beside Rafael. "Listen," he said. "It's not going to be for long. Just until Remy gets better. You don't want him to hurt himself, right?"

"Why are you talking to him like he's a child?" Wolverine said.

"He _is_ a child," Bobby responded.

Rachel said: "He's right. Rafael's pretty easy to read."

"Get out," Rafael said to Rachel. "It's too crowded in here."

Rogue felt tearful. "Oh, Remy. Why didn't you tell me? Ah could have helped you, sugah."

Rafael wrinkled his nose at her with disgust. "Nyah," he said.

"Stop that," Bobby told him.

Hank appeared in the open doorway. "I've just spoken with Doctor Drumm," he announced. "Someone has been tampering with Remy's prescription."

"Who would do that?" Bobby asked, aghast.

Rafael looked at Hank with an avid expression. "You're a twin too?" he asked.

* * *

><p><em>Next time: Remy knows why the caged bird sings-lots of good drugs.<br>_

_I finished writing this story on Friday. Sixteen more chapters left, but two are pretty short.  
><em>


	38. Shake It Out

_Regrets collect like old friends  
>Here to relive your darkest moments<br>I can see no way, I can see no way  
>And all of the ghouls come out to play<br>And every demon wants his pound of flesh  
>But I like to keep some things to myself<br>I like to keep my issues strong  
>It's always darkest before the dawn<br>And I've been a fool and I've been blind  
>I can never leave the past behind<br>I can see no way, I can see no way  
>I'm always dragging that horse around<br>And our love is pastured, such a mournful sound  
>Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground<br>So I like to keep my issues strong  
>But it's always darkest before the dawn<br>_-Shake It Out, Florence & The Machine

It was dark where Remy was, but not completely dark because they never turned off the lights. He was in a cell in The Raft prison facility in New York City, on the East River. To keep out the light, Remy had made himself a tent under his jacket. Occasionally, he would consult his iPod and be dazzled by the blueish-white glow from the screen. They'd given him his jacket, his cards, and his iPod shortly after they'd taken him into custody. Kitty had gotten to his iPod music list. All of the blues that the vampire-hunter Blade had given Remy had been deleted, which Remy found really irritating. Remy wanted to listen to Billie Holiday on endless repeat until he lapsed into a fugue of misery. Instead he found that Kitty had made a playlist titled: HAPPY FUN TIME MUSIC. It was mostly pop and top-forty and completely unlistenable in Remy's opinion. There was the occasional decent HAPPY FUN TIME song however.

"_You just caaall out my naaaame...And you know wherever I am...I'll come running...to see you again...Winter, spring, summer, or faaa-all...All you have to do is call...And I'll be there, yes, I will...You've got a friend..._"

Greycrow had said on several occasions that Remy was a sentimental sap. Remy did enjoy this particular song quite a bit. That was Mercy's fault. Kitty couldn't have known when she picked _You've Got A Friend_ for her silly playlist, but the song put Remy in mind of the Sunday afternoons of his youth. Sundays meant time to sit and read, listen to music, and spend time with family. Mercy would put on her scratchy records from her teenage years and she and Henri would dance around the sitting room to Carole King and James Taylor. When Remy was a teenager he would watch them and roll his eyes while secretly becoming a hopeless romantic. Remy hoped Simon & Garfunkel weren't in the mix. He wasn't sure if he could take it.

"_Hello lamp-post...What cha knowin'? I've come to watch your flowers growin'...Ain't cha got no rhymes for me?...Doot-in' doo-doo...Feelin' groovy..._"

Oh no, Remy thought. If he had to listen to this, he'd much prefer _Mrs. Robinson_, one of Mercy's top ten favorites. It was amazingly coincidental, since Bobby was the one who had Remy watch _The Graduate._ Bobby Drake had been wearing Mercy's shade of red lipstick all over his neck during Remy's birthday party. The song had a whole new meaning to Remy now; Mrs. Robinson, indeed. He smiled.

"_I'm a survivor! I'm goin'na make it! I will survive! Keep on survivin'!_"

"Gah!" Remy sat up and pulled the earbuds from his ears. He looked at his iPod; Destiny's Child again. Remy groaned.

He sat on the edge of the bed and rummaged through the pockets of his jacket. Most of his belongings had been removed but he still had his notebook. No pencils or pens though. Apparently he was not allowed anything pointy. There was still something pointy hidden in the shoulder of the jacket, but it would probably mean trouble if he took it out now. He found the pack of crayons that he'd bought for Rafe. The green was nothing more than a nub, but the red was still in good shape. Remy needed to make a list of things he had to do. He was thinking much more clearly now. His thoughts were no longer tripping over one another and his emotions were back in check.

The first thing he had to do was explain to the others about Rafael. He realized now that is what he should have done from the beginning, but his paranoia had told him otherwise. The second thing to do was to talk to Logan privately. Remy had to approach this situation carefully. He didn't want to involve Rogue or Bobby. He'd feel guilty about asking them to do what Remy felt had to be done. Logan would understand though, at least Remy hoped so. He wished he hadn't irritated Logan so badly these past few months. He loved to rattle Logan's cage and be guaranteed a response every time. Remy would have to explain about the baby, the attack on BellaDonna, and the monster. What Remy wanted wasn't revenge, it was justice. Justice for the child the monster had stolen for some nefarious purpose and surely murdered in his savage assault. After, Remy would have to apologize for his erratic behavior and hope his probationary status at the school hadn't been changed to terminated status.

Speaking of apologies, he would definitely have to tell Hank he was sorry for nearly incinerating him. Then he'd have to beg for Rogue's forgiveness. He cringed when he recalled some of the things he'd said to her. Remy had been lost in a state of both loving and hating her simultaneously; a space that was inhabited by three lucky people in Remy's life, the other being Jean-Luc LeBeau and the third was not to be thought about. Remy had really wanted to land an emotional sucker-punch that would send Rogue reeling; that would make her recognize the depth of his feelings for her. She consistently denied him the reactions he wanted. She was all about setting limitations and control. He could only imagine what Dr. Drumm would have to say about the whole thing; he'd be in his element. He would be all: _blah blah blah denial, blah blah repressing feelings of anger and resentment, blah blah blah negative outlets of emotion blah blah_.

He had to apologize to Idie too for letting her down. He felt uncomfortably guilty about that. It reminded him of the cousin he'd failed, Etienne, which was something he'd never gotten over. Remy had been carrying playing cards around with him since the day Etienne had been killed. It was a constant reminder of his failure to save his cousin, friend, and sponsor. Unfortunately, Remy suffered from somewhat masochistic tendencies and was unable to escape this particular pattern of behavior.

And then there was Cecelia. He really hoped he was misremembering the events at her apartment; it was unbelievably humiliating and Cecelia had been less than pleased. It was the damned sedatives. They worked well to relax his body and mind, but did nothing for impulse-control. That's how cousins got punched in the face, trucks got stolen, dogs were acquired, and ex-wives got slept with. Remy had demanded too much of Cecelia's time, calling her at all hours day and night, and as Bobby would put it, Remy had been "over-sharing." And now this. Why couldn't he have taken his own advice he'd given Bobby and just said 'no'? Why was he constantly doing things to get people's acceptance? How was he going to make it up to her? Several suggestions presented themselves in his mind and he quickly dismissed them. _Remy_, he thought, _you're incorrigible. It wouldn't do for Rafael to see those kinds of things. _

He let his thoughts turn to Rafael. Remy hadn't spoken to him in awhile, though how they communicated could only loosely be described as speaking. They had their own way of understanding one another. Rafe knew what Remy was saying and vice versa. It was the way Remy had first learned language and how he'd spoken until Jean-Luc had spent all those hours schooling it out of him.

_Rafey_, he thought. _There you I speak to?_

_Here me_, Rafe responded.

_Okay?_ Remy asked.

_Yes_, Rafe answered.

_Away keep telepaths you_, Remy told him. Rafe needed to keep himself hidden from telepaths. Remy didn't want anyone to know what Rafe was thinking; Rafe didn't know how to guard his thoughts. Remy needed to protect him, keep him independent and his own person.

_Afraid no_, Rafe said. Rafe wasn't afraid of anything, he just didn't know any better.

_Fear_ s_afe keep you_, Remy said.

_Brave Remy_, Rafe said, wanting his brother to be bolder, more courageous. Remy could feel Rafe's smile.

_What tell me you no? _ Remy asked, suspicious.

Rafael laughed. _Secret._

_ Rafey..._ Remy begged. But Rafael had gone back to wherever it was he hid himself and Remy didn't follow.

It was miraculous Remy was able to make himself understood at all. From the articles he'd read, he'd learned that people who'd suffered the kind of severe neglect he had experienced in his earliest years had a hard time communicating. Rafael too had been locked away for so long. It was nice to have Rafe there; he was someone who understood Remy perfectly for once.

Remy looked at his iPod. According to the date, he'd been in this cell now for nearly five days. Soon, Drumm would come back for Remy's reevaluation. Remy wondered what his chances of getting out of here were. Probably not great, but maybe he could get an upgrade to a different facility, one that wasn't meant for psychopathic super-powered villains. And the food here was terrible. The company, on the other hand, wasn't so bad. All the guards here were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Two of them Remy remembered from bootcamp and neither could honestly say they were surprised to see Remy end up in prison. They'd even had bets on why he'd be incarcerated. Agent Perry had bet Remy had stolen something, possibly an aircraft carrier. Agent Lopez had put his money on Remy being a crazy mutha, so Remy supposed Lopez was the winner. Perry and Lopez were nice enough to sneak him stuff that was at least edible, and not gelatinous greenish gray ex-green beans in casserole form.

So since he was waiting for Drumm to show up, he could do something constructive in the meantime. Remy sat on the floor and opened up a new deck of cards. He shuffled and cut them, then lay out twenty-one cards face up in three rows of seven. As a Catholic, he shouldn't be messing around with fortune-telling. As a New Orleans native, the crossover between faith and magic was an everyday way of life. Given the circumstances of his birth, he wondered that he wasn't naturally predisposed to precognition.

The first row was the past, which was to Remy often as mysterious to him as the future. The Six of Hearts never failed to appear in the row, it was the card for a care-giver. Remy often thought it was Tante Mattie's card, but now he wasn't sure. That card was tied to a sudden change in Remy's early life. Was it because Tante Mattie had interfered in Remy's destiny, or did the card signify Destiny's choice to steal away with him and Rafael? Another ever-present card was the King of Diamonds. That was Jean-Luc. A third card was the Nine of Spades, Remy's personal low. He was glad that card was behind him.

The middle row was the present. The Jack of Clubs was there; that must be Bobby. Remy was glad to see him next to the Five of Spades, which could either represent Remy himself or a temporary set-back that was a blessing in disguise. Either way, Bobby had his back.

The last row was the future. It was a mix of hearts and spades. So, it was going to be creativity versus logic, faith against reason. The first card was the King of Spades. It filled Remy with conflicting emotions: anticipation and dread, fear and respect. He knew the King of Spades was close, that he'd be coming soon. Remy needed to tamp down those emotions; he couldn't be at war with himself. Remy needed to prepare himself for when they met. Then there was the Three of Hearts-emotional conflict. That was a given, Remy thought. The Three of Spades...so, something would be interfering in an important relationship. The Ace of Spades was also present. That could be good or bad. Either way, something drastic was going to happen, come to an end or change. The Seven of Spades was an obstacle to success but was followed by a fortuitous card, the Nine of Hearts: wish fulfillment. The final card made Remy's heart leap with joy: the Queen of Hearts, his heart's desire. He'd come to associate the card with Rogue. Seeing her there made him feel practically giddy.

Sometimes getting everything you wanted could be a bad thing, but hadn't Tante Mattie told him it would all be worth it? Didn't Destiny's letter mention knowing great love? He looked to the future with renewed confidence.

Remy heard the buzz that signaled that the cell door would open. He looked up from his cards as the door slid aside reveling two S.H.I.E.L.D. guards, one of which was Agent Lopez. Remy offered him a vague smile. It wasn't breakfast time for a few hours yet. Had Dr. Drumm arrived early?

"Mornin'," Remy said.

"Remy," Lopez said, he looked nervous. Remy gave him a curious look. "You're being released."

Remy stood, careful not to disturb his spread of cards. He shrugged on his coat. The other guard looked as though he was going to protest, but Lopez held out a hand. "He's cool," Lopez told the guard. "He's one of us."

The other guard gave Remy an appraising look. "Really?"

"He survived bootcamp...plus Nick Fury is his uncle or something," Lopez explained.

"Close family friend," Remy clarified.

"Uhm," Lopez began. "I'm going to need you to hold out your arms."

Remy raised his brows. The guards had shackles. "If I'm being released, why do I have to be restrained?"

"I'm sorry, Remy," Lopez said. "You're being released to another facility...transferred."

"I am? Where is Drumm sending me?"

Lopez continued to look uncomfortable. He held out the restraints. "It'll be fine," he said, though he seemed to be trying to reassure himself more than Remy.

Remy shrugged. "You're just doin' your job," he said and stood passively while his wrists were shackled, then chained to his waist. He was hobbled as well. Remy LeBeau: model inmate; not a single riot instigated.

Remy was led from his cell flanked by both guards. They passed by other cell doors while walking toward an elevator. The Raft was largely underwater, the cells were lined with adamantium, and once inside the facility a mutant's powers were negated. Remy was on the second level. He was mildly insulted they didn't find him dangerous enough to keep on the lowest level. Surely being the greatest thief of the millennia would place him in Level Eight status? They traveled up to the ground floor.

"Is Dr. Drumm here?" Remy asked as they stepped off the elevator.

"No," Lopez answered, glancing at his partner.

The answer gave Remy a feeling of trepidation. "He's not? When did he sign off of de transfer?" They began walking down another hall towards a closed door.

Lopez hesitated. His partner answered instead: "Dr. Drumm didn't sign off. Your other doctor did."

"Xavier?" Remy asked, confused. Xavier hadn't treated him in a long time, not since before Onslaught.

"No," the partner said. "Frost. Emma Frost."

Remy missed a step. "She's not-she's not my doctor," Remy said. He had not appreciated her treatment sessions in the least. If anything, they had made things worse for both him and Rogue.

"They've assumed custody, responsibility for your treatment," Lopez said.

"_They_? They who?" Remy asked, all ready knowing the answer. The door was opened into a room that was set aside for probation hearings. There was a metal table in the center of the room bolted to the floor. A single metal chair, also bolted to the floor, was set in front of it. There were several chairs behind the table, as well as a one-way mirror that reflected the back of the man standing before it.

"The X-Men," Lopez answered.

Magneto was standing before the table, his arms crossed.

Remy carefully guarded his expression while keeping his eyes on Magneto as he was lead to the metal chair. His restraints were fixed to a loop of metal set in the floor.

"Sorry," Lopez said again. "A staff doctor will be in to see you. You'll be fitted with an inhibitor and sedated."

"Is that really necessary?" Remy asked, his voice even and unreadable.

Lopez frowned pensively at him. "It'll be okay. Try to behave yourself, Remy."

"And you, Ángel," Remy responded with a smile.

"Ángel?" the other guard said, giving his partner an incredulous look.

Agent Ángel Lopez gave Remy a disgusted look. "If you weren't shackled, I'd kick your ass."

Remy grinned. "This might be de only time you'd actually stand a chance,_ mon ami_. Better get your shots in while you can."

"At least I don't have a stripper's name," Lopez said as he and his partner departed.

Remy turned his attention back to Magneto, who was regarding Remy with a mixture of distain and curiosity. Remy lifted his shackled arms as much as he was able.

"We have t'quit bein' seen together like dis," Remy told him. "People are gonna start t'think we're into some pretty kinky stuff."

Magneto scowled. "If you believe you are being humorous, you are mistaken."

"Before we start, let's set some ground rules...my safe-word is 'clementine,'" Remy informed him. He was hoping for a reaction, but as usual, Magneto remained cooly detached. "All right, so you're not a fan of bawdy humor. You must be a slapstick kinda guy. I like wordplay myself."

"Are you unaware of the severity of your situation?" Magneto asked him. "How far removed from reality are you?"

"I like t'keep a sense of humor, it's a coping mechanism. De jokes just get worse from here." Magneto was immovable. _Let's call a spade a spade_, Remy thought to himself, enjoying his own private joke. Magneto was definitely a spade, or in the Tarot deck, a sword. Swords were decisive, intellectual, of sound mind and reason. They were also judgmental and unyielding and needed an emotional foil for balance. Remy saw himself as a Heart, or a Cup. Cups were compassionate, creative, and tolerant. They could also let their emotions rule them, were quick to anger, and devious when crossed. Cups were water signs, Swords were air. Both existed together, hydrogen and oxygen. But Swords were weapons, meant to defend or destroy, and Cups were vessels, meant to be filled and shared.

"We shall see how humorous you are once sedated," Magneto said.

"I really appreciate you takin' an interest in my mental health," Remy told him.

"Your health is of little concern to me. You are bound and chained, like a wild animal. It is my responsibility to see our kind protected from reckless mutants like yourself," Magneto said.

"I'd just like t'point out that I was put here for my own safety," Remy told him. "I'm not some megalomaniac bent on world destruction like some of de other yahoos in dis place. I have not been imprisoned because I've been judged of some wrong-doing."

"I suppose you have deemed yourself to be above judgment."

"Well, you ain't de one who has a final say in de matter," Remy said with a wry smile. "I'll wait for de Big Man upstairs t'make de call."

"You will be found lacking," Magneto said, his eyes narrowed.

"You know, if I didn't suffer from de occasional bouts of neurotic paranoia, I'd say you have it out for me. I don't un'erstand why you went t'all de trouble t'come out here for me, let alone set up some kinda trial in Antarctica on my behalf."

"Perhaps in this instance it is not paranoia," Magneto told him. "You might have come to that conclusion, if you possessed any common sense."

"I'm small potatoes, Magneto. I have done everything t'fly under your radar for some time now. If dis is about Rogue, you can relax. She's made her choice and I'll come t'terms wit' it. I'm not messin' around wit' your girl."

"This does not involve your sick obsession with Anna," Magneto told him. Remy allowed a flicker of irritation to show on his face. He hated that Magneto tossed around Rogue's name so casually as if he'd earned the right to use it, as if it meant nothing. "This is about your other disturbing predilection."

Remy kept his breathing even and ignored his racing heartbeat. Did Magneto know Remy's secret? The one he'd rather die than admit to? Remy hadn't been completely honest with Bobby when he said he didn't hate anyone. Remy had saved his hatred for himself, for his secret. Because what kind of person did that make him, really? It was the very heart of his sickness, why he couldn't recover in spite of medication and therapy.

"You live in service of Sinister," Magneto told him. "You worship him, follow him as if he were a prophet. You're his pet, his dog. And you can't stop yourself from continuing your allegiance to him, any more than you can cease your infatuation with Anna."

Remy swallowed, his throat constricted with withheld emotion. Maybe he was wrong, and he could hate someone. He was actively hating Magneto at that very moment. _Lord, _he thought, _make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, make me sow love._

"What's more, is your failure to amount to anything, to achieve your true potential. You, in your idiocy, threw away your power. You might have been an instrument for change on a global level. Instead, you are nothing."

_It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,_ _and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life. Amen._

Remy drew a bracing breath. "I might be able to see your point, Magneto. But I have never had an interest in power. I can respect you, but I'm not like you. I don't have a grand vision for de future. I have to keep notes just to make it through de week. My goals are more on a local-level...I don't have a world-wide agenda. I don't inspire men to greatness."

"You have an astute assessment of yourself," Magneto replied.

"You have all of that stuff I don't have," Remy continued. "Including Rogue's respect, her affections...maybe her heart. I don't know why you'd take a chance on that. If you choose to throw that away, then you're de idiot."

"If you are under the impression that the words of a madman in chains should influence me in some way-."

"If I could influence one person, be an example, even if it's a _bad_ example, so that someone else can learn from my mistakes, then I'll say: mission accomplished. That's my purpose, to be there for someone else. I'm th'sidekick, the diversion. If I could influence _you_ in any way, I'd tell you t'try some humility on for size. But I can see I'd be wasting my breath. Some people can't learn but de hard way."

"On that, you and I can come to some agreement. Though given that you continue to make the same mistakes over and over again, I doubt you capable of being taught."

"Every time I've been brought low, I've only climbed higher. I don't want t'carry hate around in my heart. I could just as easily be you, and wallow in de wrongs that have been done t'me and use them to justify my actions."

"Do you think that your pathetic life in any way compares to my own...?" Magneto said, his voice was a low hiss of disbelief.

The door reopened to admit a slight pale man with dark hair dressed in a white coat. He was carrying a metal tray.

"Oh good, doctor," Remy said. "I hope you brought somethin' strong. I can't take listenin' to dis pompous ass another moment."

The doctor set the tray down onto the table. There was a syringe and a vial set on the tray. When the doctor rolled up Remy's sleeve, Remy looked at Magneto. "If you think I'm annoyin' now, just you wait."

Magneto glared.

The doctor administered the sedative and rolled Remy's sleeve back down. The two S.H.I.E.L.D. guards returned with another restraint. Remy was uncoupled from the floor and the inhibitor was locked in place.

"How do you feel?" the doctor asked.

"_Feelin' groovy..._" Remy sang. It was a good thing he couldn't use his powers. Otherwise, he'd have charmed everyone into feeling a little groovy too.

The two guards led him from the room, Magneto and the doctor following behind. They continued back to the elevator and traveled up another floor. Once outside of the elevator they progressed through a pair of double doors and into the night air. There was a breeze coming off the East River.

Lopez leaned forward and spoke into Remy's ear. "I can put a message through my commanding officer and see if I can't get a hold of Fury."

"That'd be mighty kind of you," Remy said lightheartedly. "It's nice t'have friends in high places."

"This isn't right," Lopez said. "The whole thing stinks."

Remy smiled. "It's just a temporary set-back."

"The one thing I know about you, Remy," Lopez said, "is that you seem to fall in shit and come up smelling like roses."

Remy laughed as he was walked toward a waiting ferry and across a metal gangplank. He had to concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other. Once they crossed the gangplank, it was removed and the ferry's railing was closed and locked. "You ever see dat firearms instructor?" Remy asked his friend.

"The redhead?"

"That's de one."

Lopez smiled. "On occasion."

"Well, next time you see her...tell her: _here's t'you Mrs. Robinson..._" Remy said.

"I'm not interested in being castrated. You can tell her yourself once you get out. We'll all go get a beer," Lopez told him.

"Sounds like a plan. I've got a friend, Vernon, I'd like her t'meet."

Remy was taken aboard the ferry and into an enclosed cabin. Inside the windowless cabin were several metal benches, all vacant. Remy was seated on one of the benches facing away from the bow of the ferry. Thankfully, he was not shackled to the loop on the floor this time. He sat and stared hazily into the distance. The doctor sat beside him on the bench.

"This is unnecessary," Magneto said.

"Custody of the prisoner will be transferred when we arrive at your aircraft," Lopez's partner said. "And after you've acquired your flight itinerary from San Francisco International."

"_I wasn't born there...perhaps I'll die there...there's no place left to go...San Francis-co..._" Remy sang. The image of Claire DuLac trying to cajole John Greycrow into dancing around the bonfire floated to the surface of his mind.

_Hippy dippy bullshit._

Remy laughed; good times.

"Is this a...normal reaction?" Magneto asked.

Remy thought of Cecelia flashing the peace sign to Idie. "_Everyone jump upon the peace train..._," Remy murmured, his head dropping. The ferry pushed away from the dock and Remy's world canted to the side. He hated not being able to see where he was going, it always made him sick. "Eugh," he said. "You're harshin' my mellow, man."

As the ferry picked up speed Remy began to feel queasy. His mouth watered and he swallowed. He put his head between his knees.

"Should he be turning green?" Lopez asked.

The doctor looked at Magneto. "Perhaps you could locate a-bucket? Surely there's something in janitorial?"

Magneto looked at the doctor and responded with an incredulous: "Excuse me?"

"He usually has one..." Remy said to his feet. "On his head." He'd laugh if he didn't feel like his stomach was about to turn itself inside out.

_If you swing yourself over the bar, you'll turn yourself inside out._

"If you would, please," the doctor said, brooking no argument. "Unless you enjoy wiping vomit from your shoes."

_I like myself rightsides-in._

Magneto turned and exited the cabin.

Remy breathed in and out through his mouth. He was definitely going to be sick.

"Perhaps some air?" the doctor said to the guards.

They took Remy's arms and the doctor reopened the cabin door opposite from where Magneto had departed. Together they walked out into the night air. Remy drank in lungfuls of fresh air, felt the soft spray of water on his face. The doctor walked him to the railing. Remy looked out over the blue-black water as it sped past, the New York City skyline in the distance. Beyond that, the lightening of the sky that signaled dawn was approaching. That helped. Now he knew where he was going.

The sedatives weren't so bad, really. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling. At one point he'd wanted to feel this way all the time; calm...empty. This was how Carter Ryking spent the majority of his existence until his life had been cut short by Sinister's Cronos device; a machine that would have re-activated Sinister's DNA and personalty inside one of several selected mutants upon Sinister's death. What some people did for immortality, Remy thought. If you want to live forever, why don't you write a book, compose a song, or paint a masterpiece? Who'd want to actually be alive forever?

Remy passively watched as the railing was unlocked. It swung out on its hinges over the dark water, leaving nothing but empty space between Remy and the passing East River water.

_It's more fun if you're on the edge._

_Hm_, Remy thought languidly while looking at the water, _don't want to end up in there_. He slowly slid his foot backwards until he felt a hand lightly touch his back. Remy dazedly turned and saw that the guards were several feet away, flanking either side of the cabin door. They were staring blankly into the distance, unresponsive. Remy then looked at the doctor who was standing very near. His name tag read: Dr. David.

Remy smiled at it before looking up into the doctor's eyes. "A new alias...Just for me?" The King of Spades, King David, had arrived just as Remy predicted.

"I imagined you would appreciate the reference," the doctor answered.

"You're so thoughtful. You never fail t'show up at de right time," Remy told him.

"I'm offering you this opportunity," the doctor said, gesturing out over the expanse of black water.

"Do you think that de angels will bear me up?" Remy asked him groggily.

"It is what you wanted, isn't it?" the doctor asked. "An escape?"

_You need someone to push you._

"I never made it very far...wit'out a push," Remy told him.

_ Jump off when you get to the top. It's fun._

Remy plunged from the side of the ferry and the darkness rose up to meet him.

_Hey, look how far I got._

* * *

><p><em>Next time: The X-Men start putting the pieces together.<em>

_Notes: Remy and Rafey are speaking my closest approximation to Twin Speak that I could come up with based on the research I did. They don't have their own made-up words, but rank words in order of importance.  
><em>

_Remy and I both have very French-sounding names. I was once asked if my name was real. When I said yes, it was my real name, I was informed it sounded like a stripper's name. I told them my parents had high aspirations for me. My brother is trying to convince his wife to name their future son Remy LaFlamme, to which I say: YAY! Another stripper in the family!  
><em>


	39. Love Comes Close

_Love comes close  
>But chooses to spare me<br>Death comes close  
>But ceases to take me<br>I want to twist the knife a bit deeper  
>To siphon the love from the hearts I believed in<br>Look outside, world is exploding,  
>Stay inside, still never knowing<br>Taking cover, with each other,  
>Sleeping off the century of hope<em>  
>-Love Comes Close, Cold Cave<p>

Bobby was dreading making this phone call, but someone had to do it. Logan would be too brusque. Joanna would likely just start yelling. And Bobby got the feeling that Remy's family didn't like Rogue very much, and besides, she was acting like a robot. Bobby thought it would be best if he delivered the news. Bobby was in the hall outside the teachers' lounge. He paced nervously as he dialed.

The phone rang once before it was picked up. "Good evening, LeBeau residence. This is Pierce speaking, how may I be of assistance?" Bobby thought maybe Pierce was chosen as the Guild's Voice simply because he was the most articulate. His personality left a lot to be desired.

"Uhm, hey! Pierce, my man. How's it-how's it going?" Bobby said.

There was a pregnant pause before he received an answer. "Mister Drake," Pierce said finally. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Yeah...hey. Could you put Mercy on the phone? Please," he said.

Another pause. "A moment, sir."

Bobby heard a soft knock as the receiver was set down. _Geez, a land line,_ Bobby thought. _It's probably a rotary phone. These people live in the dark ages._

Bobby could hear Pierce's voice speaking softly.

"He is...? Oh. Tell him I'm_..._washing my hair," he heard Mercy say very distinctly. Who knew thieves could be so loud?

The receiver was picked up. "Ms. LeBeau is indisposed," Bobby was told.

"Tell Mercy I can _hear_ her...that the tri-county area can hear her too. Tell her it's important," Bobby said.

Again came Pierce's muffled voice followed by a very clear: "Oh, geez."

Mercy was now on the phone. "Well, hey there, Bobby."

"Hi, Mercy," Bobby began evenly. Now was the moment he was dreading. He felt his heart sink. "I-I'm sorry I didn't call earlier..."

"Don't think nothin' of it," Mercy said lightly. "I mean, we were just messin' around. We had fun, right?"

"Uhm, yeah-but, Mercy-."

"I'm sorry Bobby, I didn't mean t'lead you on. You're a nice guy...and I do like nice. You know what they say: 'Nice guys finish _last_,'" she purred. "I was glad t'find out they were right."

"Oh my god..." Bobby muttered. Did everything have to be an innuendo with this family?

"But if you're ever back in town-."

"Mercy, please listen to me. I have to tell you something. Something...very bad."

Mercy paused. "Did something happen to Remy?"

"Yes. Mercy-."

"Spit it out, Drake."

"Mercy, he's...gone."

"Gone?" Mercy asked quietly. "Gone where?"

"He's died. Remy is dead," Bobby said. There, it's done. He said it out loud. That made it real.

"What-?" Mercy's voice was nothing but a shattered breath.

"I'm sorry."

"He-he _can't_ be dead!" Mercy's voice shrilled. "He was just _here_! He was-he was alive!"

"I know..."

Mercy let out a sob and Bobby waited patiently. The minutes ticked by as she continued to weep into the phone. "I'm sorry," Bobby said over and over again.

"How did dis _happen_?" Mercy wailed.

Bobby swallowed. "He...fell. He fell into the East River."

"What! He drowned! How?"

"He was...at a prison facility on the river-."

"What! _Why_!"

"He kinda had a breakdown. We took him there. He committed himself. We thought he was going to be okay."

"Why didn't you tell me? I could have gone t'see him," Mercy said tearfully.

"I didn't think he'd be there that long. Doctor Drumm said-."

"I could have seen him! Now he's gone!"

"Mercy, please-."

"You were supposed to be looking after him! Did he escape? Did he break out?"

"No...no, he was being transferred. And-he jumped. From the ferry. He was wearing an inhibitor and he was shackled."

"Oh my gawd..." Mercy moaned. "My baby brother."

"Is...there anything I can do?" He wished he was there in person so he could comfort her.

Mercy continued to sniffle. "Can you send him home? He should be wit' his daddy and brother."

Bobby picked at the button on his shirt. "Yes, we will. Once they find him."

Another despairing moan. "He's still in de river...? I have t'tell Emil...I have t'tell _Belle_. She's-she's gonna crack. This'll be it...the last thing she needs t'hear now."

Bobby let out a held breath. "Maybe you can wait. Until after the baby is born."

Silence.

"Mercy?"

"There is no baby," Mercy told him flatly.

Bobby swallowed. "What? I thought-. Oh. Did she...decide not to keep it?"

There was a sharp breath through the phone line. "Bobby! Belle was assaulted! Attacked in her own home. She nearly _died_!"

Bobby stared blankly down the hall. "What?" his stomach sank to his knees. He felt a rush of anxiety. Remy had been acting so out of it, crazy. He wouldn't have attacked Belle the way he attacked Hank? Would he?

Mercy was crying again. "If Remy hadn't been there..." she whispered. "She'd of died for sure. Poor Belle, she looked like she was clawed apart...like by some wild animal. She'll never be able t'have another baby."

Bobby felt faint. He sagged against the wall. "Who attacked her? Who'd attack a pregnant woman?"

Mercy took a shuddering breath. "We don't know. Belle says it was a monster."

"A monster?"

"Yeah..._une b__ê__te noire_."

"A-what?"

Mercy sighed. "Nothin', Bobby. It just means a nasty person. A dark beast."

Bobby's heart slammed itself against his ribcage as realization dawned on him.

"Oh my god," he said.

* * *

><p>Rogue was inside the teacher's lounge, seated in one of the office chairs. She was staring fixedly at the tabletop when Bobby entered the room. The dog slipped out from under the table to trot over to Bobby and lick the man's hand. Bobby patted the dog absently.<p>

"I was the last to speak with him," Magnus was saying. "He was lead out like a beaten dog. He was completely detached from reality."

"You're not the one who gets to make the call on someone's sanity," Logan replied heatedly. "He had a doctor!"

"Gambit's mind was a perverse wasteland," Magnus replied cooly. "He himself admitted he had no plans to make it through the end of the week. He chose to end his own life."

Bobby spoke, his voice equally cold and flat: "That's why he was there. To prevent that from happening. Until he could get better."

"You shouldn't have interfered," Logan said. "It was none of your business!"

"On the contrary. It is my business to ensure that destructive uncontrollable mutants do not threaten our way of life," Magneto replied.

"He wasn't Exodus, fer fuck's sake!" Logan shouted.

Magneto slapped a file folder down onto the table in front of Rogue. The pages slipped out and spilled across the tabletop. "By your own reports, the man's powers were out of control. In a dangerous flux."

Hank straightened his back and regarded Magnus with an unhappy expression. "By my report...a medical report, which was confidential."

"You have no business restricting this information," Magnus informed him and gestured over the documents. "When lives were at stake. Mutant lives, those of your _students_."

"How'd you get those, anyway?" Kitty asked, her face screwing up with annoyance. "Did you hack into our computers?"

Magnus ignored her. "What your examination fails to report is that Gambit was sick because he chose to be. You can find that in Drumm's notes. His own doctor wrote that Gambit would not recover. He was a dog in love with his chain. He would never admit to his original sin, and therefore never resolve his illness."

"This is a gross invasion of privacy," Hank said.

"Do you think so? It has been brought to your attention before the depth of Gambit's deceit. Do you believe he was pursuing Xavier's dream? Do you believe he was following you?" Magnus asked, turning and pointing at Logan. "Of course, a dog needs a master. He would follow after whatever leader presented himself. If not Xavier, then another powerful mutant. Apocalypse, perhaps. In lieu of his true master-Sinister."

"I don't believe you," Logan said.

"To your folly. The moment Sinister returned, Gambit would not be able to help himself. He would have fallen over himself to obey. He was deranged," Magnus said.

Rogue continued to stare blankly at the records. She reached out and pushed them back into the folder. They meant nothing. Remy was gone.

"You're right," Joanna suddenly said. "Gambit _was_ pretty pathetic. Stupidly loyal, just like you said...a dog. You could kick him around and he'd come crawling back on his belly."

Why was Joanna being so hateful? Rogue wondered. Wasn't Remy kind to her always, even though Joanna didn't deserve it?

"Yeah," Joanna continued, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's just too bad you didn't get to him first, hunh? Then maybe it'd be you he'd have followed to the grave. God, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous!" Joanna's tone was bitingly sarcastic.

Magnus glanced dismissively at Joanna. "It isn't any wonder why you and Gambit should orbit one another. Like attracts like."

Bobby piped up. "I find it ironic that the Master of Magnetism would say something like that. I thought opposites attract?"

Magnus disdainfully replied: "Another who fails to achieve his true potential. Another man who chooses to ignore reality and play the fool."

"That's enough," Rogue said quietly.

Magnus regarded her stoically. "Rogue?"

"Ah've heard enough from you."

"Is this a decision at last?" Magnus asked her.

"We're done here," Logan said. "You can scram."

"I'll show you out," Joanna announced.

"That is unnecessary," Magnus replied as he started toward the door.

"Oh, I insist!" Joanna pushed forward and yanked open the door. She made an exaggeratedly gracious gesture inviting him out. He stepped to the open doorway and stared at Joanna for a moment. Joanna stared back, an ugly scowl on her face. Magnus walked soundlessly down the hall. Joanna kicked the door shut behind him.

"What a jerk!" Kitty exclaimed.

"He really is. Rogue, I should've said something, but you didn't listen when I told you that about the last guy you dated," Bobby said.

"Yeah, and it's too bad he's not a take-charge kinda guy in the sack," Joanna said, looking at Rogue. "Expects you to do all the work. Am I right?"

"Geez! Joanna! Over-sharing!" Bobby exclaimed.

Rogue regarded them blankly, then stood from her chair.

Before she could make it to the door, Bobby spoke again: "Wait, I have to tell you guys something."

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. "What now?"

Bobby was very pale, paler than usual, Rogue thought. "Well, it's about what set Gambit off in the first place."

"Did it have anything to do with this?" Kitty asked, holding out a black and white photo and waving it back and forth. She was sitting on the desk inside the cubicle they all shared.

Rogue squinted at it. What was it? It looked like-.

Bobby sighed. "No...or, yes...I just got off the phone with Mercy, Remy's sister-in-law. Gambit went to see BellaDonna about-about that. But Belle had been attacked. And. And the baby was stolen."

Baby? Rogue wondered. "Oh...no," she breathed.

Bobby continued: "Mercy said Belle was attacked by a man with claws. She said it was a dark beast. I think maybe she meant-_the_ Dark Beast." Bobby shot a quick glance at Hank.

Hank had his chin in his hand. "My nefarious doppelganger strikes again. That would explain why Gambit attacked me in his panic. Why Rafael asked me if I had a twin."

"But why?" Kitty asked, looking at the sonogram image with dismay. "Why would he want this baby?"

Rogue felt light-headed. "To have the power to destroy Sinister," she said dully. "It was in his genes, Remy's. That's why Destiny stole him from the Black Womb project. To keep Remy away from Sinister. Why she sold him to the Thieves' Guild."

"Wait-_what_?" Kitty asked incredulously.

"It's a long story," Bobby said. "It starts with an ark."

Kitty's eyes grew wide.

Logan spoke: "Alice said there was some magic that kept Sinister from finding her there. Must've kept Gambit hidden for so long."

"Whatever McCoy's purpose," Hank said, "I don't care to allow him to continue any experiment on this unborn child."

Logan took the sonogram from Kitty. "He found out about this somehow."

"Belle's letter...It was open when I found it. Maybe we should start there. At Remy's apartment," Bobby suggested.

"I could pick up a trail if he's been there," Logan said. "Let's get going, Drake."

"Ah'll go too," Rogue said. When Logan looked at her skeptically she added: "Ah need somethin' t'do. Ah can't just sit here."

"Fine," Logan said then turned to Kitty. "If we find something, we'll be in contact."

"You're not leaving me here!" Joanna balked.

"Can you take care of Rothko?" Bobby asked.

"I'm not taking care of the stupid dog!" she shouted.

"Please?" Bobby asked. "He likes you."

Rothko looked from Bobby to Joanna and wagged his tail. "Aaah!" she said, giving in. "Whatever!"

Rogue followed Logan and Bobby to Logan's truck and climbed into the backseat. She felt as if her mind had taken a backseat and someone else was steering. She felt so detached, unemotional. No time at all seemed to pass between her climbing into the truck and then stepping out again onto the sidewalk in front of the Salem Center apartment building where Remy lived...had lived. She watched as Bobby pressed in a code by the door and the door buzzed open.

They traveled in silence up to the fourth floor. Logan scented the air in the hallway while Bobby proceeded to the apartment door and unlocked it. Bobby had the code, he had the keys. He could get in. When did Remy start spending so much time with Bobby? With Cecelia Reyes? Since when did he pair himself with the two most reliable, dependable, and _normal_ people? Rogue followed her teammates into the apartment.

Maybe it began around the time Rogue started seeing Magneto as more than a team leader. She shouldn't have been surprised that Magnus had acted the way he had, why he assumed control over the situation. He was always so in control and purposeful, where Remy ran around like a chicken with it's head cut off, acting on impulse, hot one moment, cool the next. She shouldn't have assumed that Magnus would change, that they would eventually come to a happy median. Remy on the other hand, was mercurial. He flowed from one situation to the next like water. Rogue looked around his apartment. It had changed since the first time she had seen it. The couch was new and covered in dog hair. The shelves were full of books, the walls with framed photographs. She wandered over to them.

There was a photo of Remy as a young boy with scabby knees, his father behind him holding the back of Remy's bicycle. Remy looked jubilant. Jean-Luc looked nervous. Another photo showed Mercy dancing with a lanky teenaged Remy, the image snapped just at the moment Remy had begun to roll his eyes in exasperation. There was a disturbing black and white snapshot of Remy and Joanna, both so young and jaded looking. The pair were looking at one another, seated in a booth at a diner, a milkshake between the two of them. It would have been sweet if Joanna weren't pointing a gun at Remy's head and Remy hadn't just stuck a charged card in her stack of pancakes. Another strange photo showed Remy and...good lord, was that _Scalphunter_...roasting marshmallows by a fire? Remy was laughing, Scalphunter was staring at a charred lump on the end of his stick with a scowl.

Rogue found a photo of herself. It had been taken at Scott and Jean's wedding. She was wearing a hideous red dress that she wouldn't be caught dead in now, and Remy was wearing what could best be described as Second-Hand Chic. Remy was teasing her with the garter belt he'd won. Rogue was holding Jean's bouquet. Rogue felt as if that had happened twenty years ago, everything was so different now. Remy was a different person to each of these people. He was whoever they needed him to be at the time. There was an empty space below that photo. A nail was tapped into the wall, but no frame hung from it. Rogue pressed her finger into the nailhead.

"Why is there a drawing of Oscar the Grouch on Gambit's bedroom wall?" she could hear Logan asking from the other room.

"That was Rafe's contribution to the home décor," Bobby explained.

The two men emerged from the bedroom. "He was definitely here," Logan said. "But the scent seemed stronger in the hall."

"There's a photo missing," Rogue said dully. "Do you remember what was here?"

Bobby looked at the space. "No, but there's always something new every time I come in here. Like that one."

Rogue looked to where Bobby pointed. The newest photo was of Cecelia and Idie taken on Memorial Day. They were sitting together on a picnic blanket. Idie had her first and middle fingers raised in a V-shape at the camera. Remy had changed himself again to suit what they needed; normal routine, normal apartment, normal clothes, and normal friends. A dog and family meals, church on Sunday. Picture perfect.

Rogue turned and followed Logan into the hall. He was standing before the neighbor's door. "In here," Logan said quietly. He placed himself close to the door and listened. "There's someone inside."

His claws went '_snikt_!'

"Wait!" Bobby hissed, then reached past Logan.

"What are you doin'?" Logan growled.

Bobby knocked. "Hello? Anybody home?"

"Bobby are you-?" Logan began. The door opened.

A woman stood on the opposite side of the door. She was tall. Dark green cargo pants hung from slim boy-like hips, a threadbare tank top was stretched over small breasts, her bare arms were ropy muscle. One dark blue eye glared out from a tangle of choppy ink-black hair. Her mouth was a grim line.

"Callisto?" Logan stared.

Callisto's eye flicked to Logan, then to Bobby, and last to Rogue.

"Wha-what are you doing here?" Bobby asked her.

Callisto was holding a handful of papers in one hand. With the other she drew open the door and gestured them inside the apartment. "Investigating," she answered in her gravelly voice.

The walls were plastered with schematics of medical equipment, which appeared to be some kind of incubator. One drawing looked very much like an overlarge fish hook or harpoon. There were grainy photographs of Remy, with or without Cecelia or Bobby. Rogue reached out and pulled a copy of a Jean Grey School class schedule from a pushpin stuck in the wall. There were stacks of transcripts of telephone calls with words underlined or circled, a map of New Orleans, files full of medical records, and copies of pages from Destiny's diary.

"Okay, this is seriously creepy," Bobby said, looking disgustedly at Callisto.

She waved the files she held in Bobby's direction. "This is not my doing. I am trying to discover why the Dark Beast has become obsessed with Remy LeBeau."

Rogue responded: "He wants to fulfill a prophecy...to destroy Sinister." Rogue picked up several copied pages from the diary. One of the pages had the drawing of Rafael, or perhaps Remy, stabbing Sinister with a spear. The figure was holding the spear with both hands.

"What do you know about this?" Logan asked Callisto. "And why would you care?"

The corner of Callisto's mouth raised a fraction. "I care a great deal about Remy," she answered. "He once tried to set me on the right path, and I returned his kindness with scorn. We hated ourselves, so we made love the only way we could."

Bobby opened his mouth and drew a breath, choked and began to cough. Wracked with his coughing fit, he walked over to the kitchen area and turned on the faucet. He spooned water into his mouth with his hands.

Callisto stared after him, then her gaze turned back to Rogue. "And I know because McCoy kidnapped Marrow a few weeks ago and held her captive."

"Why-would he do that?" Rogue found herself asking. "What does that have to do with Remy?"

Callisto extended a framed photograph towards Rogue. Rogue took it. It was a photo of a little girl with rosy skin. Pieces of bone poked through her flesh. She was wearing a yellow raincoat and a floppy hat. Her arm was raised to the camera, a dandelion in her fist. It was Marrow.

"He wanted to trap Gambit," Callisto answered. "She was bait."

Rogue looked up at Callisto. Her heart ached painfully when she looked at the young girl's image. Such a feeling of loss and sadness. They were Remy's emotions, not her own.

"Remy stole Sarah from the tunnels," Callisto said. "During the massacre. I pursued him across several states. I watched him-caring for her. He wasn't a murderer, like I believed. He loved her. So I took her from him to be cruel. It was a mistake. Sarah paid the price for my selfishness with her childhood. Now she suffers because the Dark Beast thought to use her. She was injured in her escape."

"Is she hurt bad?" Rogue asked.

Callisto lowered her head. "She has a healer with her," she responded. "You've given me the information I need...now I must return to tell this to Remy."

Bobby had been slurping water from the faucet. Water suddenly sprayed from his mouth into the sink. Rogue's heart lurched and Logan started. "What?" Rogue asked.

"But-We thought he was dead!" Bobby exclaimed, wiping his face.

Callisto regarded him. "No. Not dead," she answered. "Just trapped."

"We thought you said Marrow got away," Logan said. "How is he trapped?"

Callisto thought a moment. "Trapped...by his own abnegation."

* * *

><p><em>Surprise! Did anyone see that coming?<em>

_Next time: The chapter that gave me nightmares...Remy is still just a rat in a cage. (Not the cute rat from Ratatouille either...)._


	40. Imitosis

_Poor Professor Pynchon had only good intentions  
>When he put his Bunsen burners all away<br>And turning to a playground in a Petri dish  
>Where single cells would swing their fists<br>At anything that looks like easy prey  
>In this nature show that rages every day<br>It was then he heard his intuition say:  
>"We are all basically alone"<br>And despite what all his studies had shown  
>That what's mistaken for closeness<br>Is just a case of mitosis  
>And why do some show no mercy<br>While others are painfully shy?  
>Tell me doctor can you quantify<br>He just wants to know the reason, the reason why_  
>-Imitosis, Andrew Bird<p>

He watched the recording over and over again in endless, terrifying loop. There were several characters in the movie. This was the supporting cast: The Doctor, The Anesthesiologist, The Nurse, Orderly One, and Orderly Two. The main character was The Patient. The camera was positioned high on the wall, showing a wide-angled shot of the room from above. The setting was a hospital room. The camera was focused on the bed. The bed was empty, covered in a white sheet and nothing else. It was not meant for comfort. There were soft restraints on the bed, for arms and legs. A foam cradle would support the head and hold it immobile. There was a machine beside the bed; an ominous gray box with two paddles attached by cables. The Doctor stood beside the machine. The Anesthesiologist sat in a chair.

The Patient was lead by Orderly One and Orderly Two into the room. The Patient was taken to the bed. He lay down on the sheet and looked at The Doctor. The Patient could have been said to be handsome, as leading men typically were. But he was also pale, with dark rings under eyes that were all ready dark which gave him an almost ghoulish appearance. The Doctor spoke and The Patient listened, but there was no sound to this recording. It was a silent film. The Nurse bound The Patient's wrists and ankles as he lay passively. Another restraint was pulled across his chest. The Patient's expression was hopeful as he listened to The Doctor speak. The Anesthesiologist affixed an IV to The Patient's arm. He then spoke to The Patient. The Patient responded. He was counting down from twenty. The Nurse held The Patient's hand. The Patient was now unconscious, and his strained expression softened. The nurse put the final restraint in place, the one that would hold The Patient's head still. A rubber bite-guard was placed into The Patient's mouth. The Doctor moved to the machine. He picked up the two paddles. The paddles were placed on either side of The Patient's head.

The film must have had a large special effects budget. The room lit up instantly and the film came to an abrupt end. When watched at a slow, frame-by-frame pace, you could just make out what had happened. When the paddles were applied, The Patient's body suddenly spasmed. The light, emanating from The Patient, immediately engulfed The Doctor, obliterating him completely. The Nurse too, suffered the same fate. The Anesthesiologist had one brief instant where he jerked backward, only to be overtaken by the light. For a moment, all four characters were beautiful and perfect. They shown bright white like angels, but then The Doctor, The Nurse, and The Anesthesiologist were gone in a shower of sparks. The Orderlies fell back. They were the only two to see the light coming for them. Their bodies were consumed at a slower pace, but then they too were gone in a flash. And the light blossomed upward, taking the bed, the machine, the walls, and then the camera too, before the feed was cut and the recording ended. Only to begin again.

Remy did not remember agreeing to the electroshock therapy, he barely recalled being taken to the hospital by his brother Henri. But the treatment itself would have erased days, perhaps weeks of memories before and after the procedure. That Remy had agreed to undergo the therapy was a given, since no doctor could perform the procedure without a patient's consent. And despite the unforeseen side-effect of setting off his powers to devastating results, the treatment had worked. Remy felt calm, clear-minded, and the depression had vanished. He was told this was temporary. The effects would wear off in a few weeks, and then the own flux of energy inside Remy's body would take over again.

"Perhaps further steps need to be taken," Doctor Essex said, and put a hand to the back of Remy's head.

Remy was folded up into a chair in the dark room, watching the film as it began again. He looked away and then up at Essex as the man looked down at him. The touch, the sound of his voice, his calm authority assured Remy, gave him comfort. Slowly and deliberately, Remy nodded his acquiescence. Essex had consoled him. Remy was not insane. It was his powers that were out of control. His powers could be fixed...adjusted with a simple operation. Remy was so relieved. He was glad not to have responsibility over that kind of power. Essex had a way to cure him. Soon he could return to society without risk of harming friends or family. Maybe he would finally go home.

Essex was a genius. He was the one who discovered Remy and rescued him from the wreckage that was all that was left of the hospital he'd decimated. Essex had explained how Remy's powers worked. Remy believed he made things explode as if by magic, but there was much more science to it than that. Remy was not familiar with science, didn't trust it, didn't understand it, but he was trying. When Essex spoke, Remy listened. He didn't necessarily comprehend what Essex was telling him, but asked no questions. He didn't want Essex to think him an idiot. _Bouche ferme, oreilles ouverts,_ he thought_. _After the procedure, Remy was not able to do some of the things he could previously; wounds would not close themselves, explosions could not be timed. But he still had his reflexes and could make things go boom.

Remy would follow Essex through his laboratory. The laboratory was a strange place of passages, corridors, and rooms, similar to the tunnels in New Orleans, but at the same time drastically different. Everything here was sterile and cold, sharp-edged, metallic. No stone and mortar, dust or worn cobbles here. But this place seemed very much like magic to Remy. Doors and rooms would appear and disappear, depending on Essex's needs. Remy began to see how things fit together. The rooms and passages moved like a sliding puzzle, always the same but rearranging themselves. When Remy observed Essex and could ascertain his purpose, he would know where the doors would be and what rooms would be behind them.

Essex seemed surprised that Remy could find him at any given time, that Remy didn't get lost, he always knew where he was going. Remy watched Essex use technology he had never seen before. It used a language Remy had never heard spoken. Essex explained the technology came from cosmic entities called The Celestials. It took several weeks, but after awhile, the symbols slid into place in Remy's mind much like the rooms slid about in Essex's lab. Remy could then use the technology as well.

There were numerous records in a database Essex maintained on other mutants. Remy read their records and learned about them. When he saw a record of a mutant he knew, he would add information to the record. Essex was pleased. Remy would have done anything for him, to make himself useful, to thank Essex for curing him. Remy added information about the other mutants he'd met in his travels, the ones that were not recorded in the system. He created a new entry.

Sontag, Phillippa, he typed. Alias: Arclight.

When he filled in what he knew about her, he continued to a new record: Baer, Michael-Blockbuster.

He completed that record. Then next was: Cargill, Joanna-Frenzy. Remy stared at the name, then deleted the text. For some reason, he was uneasy with putting Joanna's name into the database. She didn't deserve to be listed among these people. Remy continued.

Noatak, Kodiak: Harpoon.

Quested, Janos: Riptide.

Sabretooth was all ready in the system, but his true identity was missing. Remy typed: Creed, Victor. Remy despised the man's name; it was the opposite of everything the man stood for. What did Sabretooth know about a creed, a faith? He believed in nothing. Victor...the man was not a victor, a champion, or a hero. He deserved to fail. To the data, Remy added that Creed was a psychopath, completely devoid of empathy. That was an important distinction. There was a difference between suffering from a psychosis, and being a psychopath. Victor Creed knew exactly what he was doing.

Remy continued on to the next record: Scalphunter. Remy looked at the code name. _Sounds awful_, Remy thought. He opened the record and a gasp snagged in his throat. With his heart hammering in his ears, he began to read. Remy closed his eyes. No, this wasn't the man he knew. The man he knew was capable of regret, and therefore could be forgiven. Remy scrolled down to the bottom of the record, refusing to read any further. His hand hovered over the key that would delete the record from the database. He clicked it. A prompt appeared on the screen, and though Remy did not speak the Celestial language, he understood what the prompt was asking him. _Are you sure you want to delete this record? _Remy clicked the affirmative key. There, the record was gone. Greycrow's past was erased just like that. Remy slouched back into his chair with relief.

"You are not at all what I expected," Essex said.

Remy startled. He didn't realize the doctor had been standing behind him. "Sorry," Remy replied automatically. He wasn't sure if he was apologizing for erasing the record or the fact that he'd failed to live up to Essex's expectations.

"No need for apologies," Essex said. "You have forced me to reconsider certain assumptions. I appreciate your...unique perspective. Come with me."

Remy stood to follow after Essex. He followed him to the lab where Essex conducted his experiments. Remy was uneasy with some of the things that Essex did. His Tante Mattie had told him that you could understand a man's true nature by the way he treated the the weak and dependent. That included subordinates, women, and children. Remy extended this rule to include animals. Essex had animals in his lab, rats kept in clear plastic cages. The rats were subjected to experiments that would cause them to change drastically and in unpredictable ways. Sometimes the changes would occur overnight and the animal would die, twisted in agony. Remy had slaughtered animals before, rabbits, chickens, and once he'd helped butcher a hog. But he also took care of the animals, saw that their cages were clean, that they were fed, and weren't sick. Remy wouldn't dream of making the animals they killed for food suffer. But he supposed that this was the cost of science. That animals should suffer so that humans would not have to.

One of the rats had miraculously survived. Remy peered at it through the cage. It hobbled about on misshapen legs, in pain but alive. Remy had given it food and water that morning. It moved to the water bottle now. Remy thought it might have a faint gleam of intelligence in it's remaining beady red eye.

"Shall we plot your escape, Nicodemus?" Remy whispered to the rat.

"I beg your pardon?" Essex said. Remy had his back to the doctor while he worked. Remy didn't care to see whatever it was that Essex was doing.

Remy straightened and glanced over his shoulder. Essex was staring at him. Remy felt foolish. "Nothing," he said, then hesitated. "Just de rat...looks like a character from a book. Nicodemus from _Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH_."

Essex gestured at the rat's cage and then beckoned Remy to his work table. Remy reluctantly picked up the rat's cage and walked toward Essex. He set the cage down onto the metal work surface. Remy glanced up at Essex and the man regarded him curiously. "Have you read it?" Remy asked.

"NIMH?" Essex asked speculatively. "Are you familiar then with the work of John Calhoun at the National Institute of Mental Health? Crowding into The Behavioral Sink?"

"N-no," Remy said, wishing he'd never opened his mouth. "It's about a mother mouse who wants to save her home and child." Remy felt remarkably stupid. Of course the man hadn't read a children's book, and yet he couldn't bring himself to shut his fool mouth. "And two escaped lab rats, Nicodemus and Jenner. One wants to stay away from humans and start a new society, and de other wants to continue t'live among humans and steal from them because that's what rats do."

Essex smiled at Remy. "Then you do know about the research...in a way. Calhoun introduced a mouse population to a rodent Utopia, provided them with all the food and nesting material they required. The only limitation was the amount of space. The population quickly outgrew the space, at which time the rodents began to fight and maim one another and kill their young. Their society collapsed. Save for those that withdrew to engage in solitary pursuits. Calhoun named them 'the beautiful ones.'"

"That must have been Nicodemus' group, they wanted t'be separate," Remy said. "Jenner and his followers didn't...they died trying t'steal an engine. Then humans found them dead and knew they'd escaped NIMH. And de whole rat society was endangered."

Essex tapped the lid of the rat cage thoughtfully. "Then you side with Nicodemus? You would choose seclusion with your own kind over co-existence with humans?"

Remy watched the rat hobble about his cage. "No," he answered. "I side wit' Mrs. Frisby." Remy felt a painful wash of homesickness. His family probably believed him to be dead.

Essex considered Remy's response. "You are an unusual young man," Essex told him finally, then opened the cage.

"What are you gone do wit' him?" Remy asked.

"Discover why this rodent was able to survive," Essex replied. "While the others perished."

Remy learned that it was the rats who had died earlier on in the experiment that were the lucky ones. He wanted to leave the lab, but remained rooted to the spot. By the time Nicodemus expired, Remy felt ill.

"You find this disturbing, Remy?" Essex said lightly. "It's only a rodent."

"Didn't have t'be alive when you did that," Remy said, looking away. He'd never questioned Essex before and it made him uncomfortable.

"There is at this moment one who is doing the very same," Essex said, studying Remy's face, "to living mutants."

Remy's eyes met Essex's. "Who would do something like that?" He'd met plenty of evil mutants before, but none who would commit something so heinous as to conduct an experiment on a living human being.

"At this time I am not entirely certain," Essex replied. "Only that his experiments crawl about in the darkness, maimed and mutilated like the rodents in Calhoun's study."

"That's horrible," Remy hissed. "Can't you help them?"

"I would have to locate them first," Essex told him. "They've been secreted away in some abandoned tunnels. They know nothing but fear...they never see the light of day."

Remy felt his heart twist painfully in his chest. "Where are these tunnels? I'm pretty good at findin' my way around."

"Yes, you are," Essex said. Essex put his hand to Remy's shoulder and this time, Remy flinched at his touch.

* * *

><p><em>Next time: Gambit makes a deal with the Devil.<em>

_Also, if you're looking for something more light-hearted, I have started another story called Paradise Lust: Oceans of Passion. 100% angst free. _


	41. Book of Revelation

_Oh darlin',  
>You are the son of an evil man<br>I know you hate yourself  
>But you're nothing like him<br>And it's over now  
>You can pick yourself off the ground<br>'Cause you're cool now  
>And you're nothing like him<br>_-Book of Revelation, The Drums

Henri was holding on to the back of Remy's bicycle seat with one hand, his other hand rested between Remy's shoulder blades. _I'll give you a push, _Henri said. _Keep going...don't look back. I'll be right behind you. _Henri pushed, and Remy rolled forward down the driveway. But Remy did look back and then he fell. He should have listened to his brother.

_Awake you_, said a voice.

Gambit's eyes snapped open and he gasped. He jerked upright into seated position. He was alone in a bright sterile room, sitting on a firm mattress. He recognized the place. He was inside Sinister's laboratory. Sinister was no where to be seen. Gambit was wearing the institutional gray uniform from the prison and the power inhibitor and nothing else. Panicked, he looked about. His jacket was folded over a nearby chair. He slid from the bed and walked to it. It was still damp with river water. Gambit riffled through the pockets to find them empty. His iPod was a goner for sure. There was still something in his jacket however, hidden in the folds of fabric in the shoulder. BellaDonna's carbon fiber blade, looking very much like a spade. It weighed nothing, could slip by metal detectors, and wouldn't rust, which is why Belle had it in the bath with her when she was attacked. It wasn't meant to cut, but impale. It was an assassin's weapon, its only purpose was to kill. Assured that it was still there, Gambit set the jacket back onto the chair. He was still wearing the inhibitor which criss-crossed across his chest and back. He attempted to Houdini his way out of it to no success.

When he twisted and turned, he found Sinister standing behind him. "Shall we dance?" Gambit asked him, aware that his contortions to escape the inhibitor probably looked pretty ridiculous.

Sinister did not resemble the Doctor Essex he'd known. Sinister was tall and formidable, his skin the color of chalk and almost shiny. Essex had appeared more human, of smaller stature, with dark eyes. Sinister's eyes were the color of dried blood.

"There have been fluctuations in your power signature of late," Sinister said. "You will explain how it is you came to reacquire your abilities."

"Magic," Gambit said blithely.

Sinister moved with such speed that Gambit failed to see the backhanded slap that sent him sprawling. He found himself on the opposite side of the room, his ear ringing, blood in his mouth, stars dancing in his vision. He had a moment to process the shock. Sinister had struck him! Gambit wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and looked at the blood. Sinister stood over him now. Gambit was grabbed by the shoulder and was raised to his feet.

"When you answer me, you will give a satisfactory reply," Sinister told him.

Gambit stood before Sinister, his shoulder still caught in Sinister's unyielding grip. When Sinister's fingers tightened, Gambit gasped in pain. "It was Doctor Strange," Gambit said. "He used a spell t'de-age me. I got caught up in some hocus pocus."

Sinister's grip relaxed somewhat. "Magic," a sneer in his tone. "An imprecise art, with unpredictable and unintended consequences."

"You're preachin' to de choir," Gambit replied.

"I do not believe you are forthcoming with the truth in its entirety" Sinister said, his eyes narrowing. Gambit could feel the telepath prodding his mind. Gambit pushed back, he did not want Sinister to know anything else.

"Jean-Luc was under the mistaken impression that magic would protect you," Sinister said, and Gambit could feel the pressure in his skull building. "He weaved such a bubble around you, believing you would be hidden from my sight. He failed to realize that I would only need to follow your brother to track you. Such a stalwart, reliable, and reasonable man, your elder brother."

Sinister was now gripping both of Gambit's shoulders. Gambit's head was pounding, but he wasn't going to allow Sinister to penetrate his mind. Too much was at stake.

"Pity he was killed," Sinister told Gambit. "As was your adoptive father. An interesting man, for a human. He rose too high above his station and meddled in the affairs of his betters."

"You're not fit—t'clean his boots," Gambit spat. He then cried out as Sinister squeezed his shoulders.

"He was a fool. Even his final act was foolish. He believed he had negotiated with pathetic small-minded humans to protect you. I would not accept the risk that a group of provincial humans might harm what few mutants remain," Sinister told him, his voice even and cruel. "Jean-Luc met a fitting end. Killed by the flames he'd claimed created you, _Le Diable Blanc_." Sinister's mouth twisted into a mocking smile.

Gambit froze in place, in spite of the pain. For an instant he felt a flash of rage that had him seeing red. Then he relaxed in Sinister's grip and his head fell forward. He sighed.

"Thank you," Gambit told Sinister.

This was not the reaction Sinister had expected. Gambit could feel his momentary surprise in his own mind.

"You don't know what a burden you've lifted," Gambit continued. "I've had all de time in de world t'grieve Jean-Luc's loss. But I never could rest easy not knowing for sure what happened t'him. Now I know that Jean-Luc was de man I always believed him t'be. A good man, my daddy."

Sinister released him, both physically and telepathically. Gambit stepped back a few paces to stare Sinister in the face. Though his head and shoulders ached, he remained still waiting for what Sinister would do next.

"You know nothing of your true parentage," Sinister said finally.

Gambit braced himself for whatever Sinister was going to throw at him this time. "Oh? You think you can enlighten me?"

"You've had numerous opportunities to pursue the truth, and yet you failed to seize upon these chances. I believed for a moment you might stumble upon the truth when you turned back east, and traveled to Alamogordo."

"You been followin' me all that time?" Gambit asked curiously. "You really got t'get a hobby."

"You are my..._hobby_. Your behavior is erratic and frankly, mystifying. You have provided me with numerous hours of entertainment and at times, bafflement. I admit, I enjoyed the diversion. But you were caught in the end," Sinister told him. "Do not think to distract me, Remy. You have known the truth for years, but you fail to accept it."

"Freud called it abnegation, or denial," Gambit told him. "It's a defense mechanism."

"Ah, yes, your pursuit for emotional stability through psychotherapy. You've swallowed the misinformation Xavier has fed you, I suppose. Believing your illness is caused by some emotional trauma you've suffered in your past. He fails to realize that your genetic makeup has predisposed you to madness."

"I know I've tossed around de word 'crazy' or 'madman' b'fore," Gambit began, "but I am not insane. I have a mood disorder. My ups and downs are prolly not helped by my powers none, but I am startin' to feel a little resentment at de implication that I'm nuts."

"Carter Ryking might have felt the same way," Sinister said. "Though given that he spent most of his life in a state of sedation, he likely felt little at all. Of course, the diagnosis did not come until his adulthood when the symptoms began to appear. When I used his DNA to create you, I was unaware of his illness."

Gambit turned his head away, as if Sinister had slapped him a second time.

"You beg for a purpose," Sinister said. "You wonder why you were made this way. I will tell you what your purpose is, why you were created. You need not plead to an invisible omnipotent being to provide an answer. I will give it to you. I am your creator, I am your god."

Gambit stared off into the distance and concentrated on his breathing.

"You were a challenge, as I've said. A commission, brought to me by Amanda Mueller. You will remember her, yes? The Black Womb herself. The funding to continue the project meant nothing to me, I could continue my research alone. But it was the pursuit, the _test_ that interested me. A proposal was made by an energy-supplier. I was tasked to create a perpetual engine out of genetic material. A mutant that could convert and supply an endless source of energy and require very little to maintain. I would use Ryking's abilities to provide the power supply. Mueller herself gave me her own DNA to make the project worthwhile, ensuring your lifespan would be extended for a considerable amount of time."

If anything, this was the most upsetting news yet. He did not want to live forever. Gambit swallowed, his throat dry.

"But I would need another's to temper the flow and convert one form of energy to another," Sinister continued. "It was a bit of reverse engineering on my part to make use of Sebastian Shaw's impressive abilities. It should come as no surprise to you how well yours and Shaw's powers compliment one another."

"Irene Adler would make the final contribution," Sinister added.

"That I know about," Gambit said. "She was de surrogate."

"Yes," Sinister said. "She served a purpose. To protect you. Because although the story Mueller presented to me was pure fallacy, other competing energy-suppliers, technology and weapons creators got wind of the experiment and would have seen it end. My work was sabotaged on several occasions. I was forced to use more...conventional methods-to see my work actualized. It was painfully slow. And in the nine months of confinement, Ms. Adler had a chance to...consider her situation. And realized a way to profit from it."

Gambit ground his teeth. "Aren't you quite de Doctor Frankenstein?"

"You are not impressed?" Sinister responded cooly. "Your biological mother was positively ecstatic with the results of my experiment. Because she believed she had used me to create the weapon of my own destruction. Mueller is very creative. You must have inherited your unique way of thinking from her."

"Yes, we're very right-brained people," Gambit said. "FYI, Candra also had a mind t'seeing you dead. She tried to school me some, but the learnin' didn't take. You shouldn't have pissed her off. She had her sights on Apocalypse b'fore you came along."

"Yes. A woman with extraordinary patience. Pity Cyclops killed her," Sinister smiled knowingly.

"I suppose you think dis information is going t'break me somehow? That you're gone shatter my mind? Might've been true a few months ago, but I know who I am now. I don't need you or anyone else t'tell me. I am my father's and mother's son, and that is not _you_, or Ryking or whoever else you've tossed into de mix."

Sinister stared at him until Gambit turned his head to face him again. When their eyes met, Sinister seized Gambit's skull, holding his head immobile between his two hands, his thumbs pressing against Gambit's throat. Gambit's hands encircled Sinister's wrists as he struggled to pull away. Gambit felt an incredible pain behind his eyes which blacked out his vision. He scrambled helplessly in Sinister's grip. Sinister was forcing his way into Gambit's mind.

_What are you hiding?_ he heard Sinister ask.

Gambit could not draw on his mutant powers and instead grabbed what powers he had available to him. He might have a severe reaction, but he would have to take the chance. He pulled out a stun spell from the recesses of his brain and readied it. His mouth opened to speak and Sinister's grip on his throat tightened.

_Magic?_ Sinister laughed into his mind. _You think to use a spell...on _me_?_

All the spells from the Old Kingdom spilled out of Gambit's mind, pulled like an endless stream of scarves from a magician's sleeve. Gambit felt them vanish as Sinister pulled. He struggled to hold on to the knowledge but it was slipping away. Gambit tried to scream, but it came out as a strangled growl from his throat. He kicked and twisted to no avail.

_What other useless thoughts do you have cluttering your mind? Allow me to do some house-cleaning, _Sinister said. _This perhaps?_

Sinister held the tantalizing memory of Rogue greeting Remy at the airport when he arrived back in New York from New Orleans. It was from ages ago, before they'd broken up. He was happy to see her, excited. They kissed. She was teasing him about his accent. Sinister held it in Gambit's mind's eye for a moment, then ripped it away.

Gambit's fingers tore at Sinister's wrists and hands. He scrambled for Sinister's face, but it was out of reach. _Stop!_ Gambit screamed in his mind.

_Another? _Sinister said again, teasing out another memory. Remy was holding Rogue. She sat beside him at a campfire. They were together at last, in their own little world in Valle Soleada, California.

_No!_ Gambit's eyes were streaming, blood was running from his nose.

In an instant, the memory was gone, leaving nothing but the agony of its loss.

_Please, stop!_ Gambit was begging now.

Sinister was unrelenting. _The next time you see her, you will feel nothing. She will be a stranger to you. Tell me what you are hiding._

Gambit pushed back. Now his ear was bleeding. He would never, never give up. He had to protect the secret, he wouldn't fail again.

_Fail who?_ Sinister said, seizing on the thought. More memories of Rogue were pulled free, good and bad, happy memories, sad memories, love and hate, joy and remorse.

Gambit gasped, a sob in his throat. He had to give Sinister something. Reeling, he pulled the image of BellaDonna to the forefront of his mind, the sonogram, Belle's injuries, the Dark Beast.

Sinister dropped Gambit. Gambit crumpled to the ground in a heap. He gagged and his stomach heaved. His skull felt as if it had split in two, and he held his hands to either side of his head and moaned. The pain was blinding.

"Not possible," Sinister said. "My work is proprietary. You are sterile."

Gambit drew a breath, then hissed out: "_Presto chango_. _Abracadabra. _Another unintended consequence."

Sinister crouched down beside where Gambit lay on the floor. "I would know of a mutant child's birth."

"She wasn't born..." Gambit said, falling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. "She was stolen before her time."

"And the Dark Beast now has possession of this child?" Sinister asked.

Stiffly, Gambit nodded.

"This is unacceptable."

"What d'you intend t'do about it?" Gambit asked.

"I will recover what is mine," Sinister said, then moved to stand.

Gambit seized his wrist. "You need me," he told Sinister fervently. "To find him."

Sinister appraised Gambit. "Do you believe so? You've betrayed me in the past, Remy."

"That was Mystique's doin'. Her plan, not mine," Gambit told him. "You know I can't so much as plan a child's birthday party."

Sinister considered this. "If so much as a single disloyal thought crosses your mind, I will kill you."

Gambit nodded again. "I want him dead," Gambit said. "We're in it together."

Sinister's smile was condescending. As if by magic, a cloth appeared in his hand. He gripped Gambit's chin in one hand and mopped his face with the cloth.

"Hold still," Sinister told him, as if he were speaking to a child. When he was satisfied with his work, Sinister stood.

Gambit sat up, his head still spinning, and looked after Sinister.

"Come with me," Sinister told him and left the room. Gambit climbed to his feet and followed.

Sinister entered the room that served as his information hub. It was dim and lit with reddish light which emanated from the various pieces of equipment. He sat in a chair and gestured Gambit to sit beside him.

"I confess I have missed your company," Sinister told him almost amicably. "I had enjoyed our little discussions. They provided me with a different perspective. Tell me, what have you read recently?"

Gambit sat at Sinister's side. "I revisited _The Little Prince_ recently. I'll spoil it for you, but this is de fox's secret: '_It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye_.'"

Sinister considered this. "Doctor Reyes was not as talkative," Sinister informed him. "A brilliant mind, though not my equal. There was nothing she could tell me that I did not all ready know."

Gambit felt his temper flare again. "You'll leave her alone."

"Doctor Reyes owes me a debt," Sinister said. "Her life. She was spared from Neverland. I saw to her safety myself."

"I'll pay her debt," Gambit told him. "She's not yours t'have. She lives in a different world from us."

"You would see her left in the Behavioral Sink?" Sinister smiled. "Another rat scrambling to live amongst humans? She'll be torn apart, eaten alive."

Gambit shook his head. "No. She's one of de beautiful ones. She's a solitary person...alone and protected."

"Another unique insight...Very well. I will accept you in her place. You will have your revenge," Sinister told him. "I will snuff the problem of McCoy out once and for all."

"Sounds fair," Gambit said. "Shall we shake on it?"

* * *

><p><em>Notes: Gambit and Mystique teamed up in the Messiah Complex to betray Sinister and save Rogue's life.<em>

_If Gambit is Mueller's son, that makes him Cyclops' and Havok's great-half-uncle. Because everyone has to be related to the Summers clan somehow. It also makes him Gloria Dayne's (Fontanelle) half-brother. Which is pretty skeevy considering she was grabbing his ass back in Chapter 5._

_Next time: Doctor Reyes don't got the cure for what ails you._


	42. Tightrope

So you're wishing that you never did  
>All the embarrassing things you've done<br>And you're wishing you could set it right  
>And you're wishing you could stay the night<br>But there I go again, wishing never solved a problem  
>If you wanna get it big time, go ahead and get it get it big time<br>So I think I can solve all my problems by myself  
>Nevermind, nevermind, nevermind, nevermind<br>And you think you can solve all your problems by yourself  
>Nevermind, nevermind, nevermind, nevermind<br>-Tightrope, Yeasayer

If she was going to be honest with herself, she would admit that the last time she'd seen him he'd been different, that she had recognized that something was wrong. But Cecelia didn't want to be honest with herself, because it would mean admitting to a mistake. It meant she wasn't the reliable, dependable person she thought she was. That she wasn't a good doctor. She wasn't even a very good friend. And that the last time she saw Remy would be the last time she'd ever see him again.

It had been late and Cecelia was awake, as usual. She was in her pajamas reading her book, drinking her wine and trying to get lost in the story. There wasn't much of one, really. But the nurses had all been going on and on about this book, and winked at one another when they recommended it to Doctor Reyes. _Oh give me a break_, Cecelia thought as she finished yet another titillating chapter. _ That position isn't physically possible. And in the bathtub? She's just asking for a UTI._

Cecelia turned the page to the next chapter. There was a soft knock at her door. Embarrassed, Cecelia stuffed the book under her couch cushions, picked up her wine and went to the door. She peered out the peephole. There was no one in front of the door. With the security bar still in place, she opened the door a crack and looked out. Remy was leaning up against the wall to her left. He was staring down the hall, his face expressionless. He was wearing an odd assortment of clothing, his hair was unkempt, his face unshaven. So it was his everyday look really, but there was something a bit off. Cecelia closed the door, pushed aside the security bar, and reopened the door. Her neighbor was peering down the hall at her and regarding Remy with suspicion.

"Is everything okay?" the woman asked.

Remy must put off some strange vibe, Cecelia thought. "It's all right," she said, and pulled Remy into her apartment. Remy came along passively and stood close by when Cecelia closed and relocked the door.

"This is a surprise," Cecelia said. "What needs bandaged up now?"

Remy shook his head at her. He held up his hands and showed her his palms, then the backs of his hands. "Still in one piece," he told her. He seemed mystified by this fact.

She looked him over. Yes, he seemed to be intact. "You're out late," she told him. "Working?"

Remy looked at her. There was something in his gaze that seemed anxious, maybe desperate. "I needed t'see you," he told her.

The words sent a wave of pleasure through her. She ducked her head. "Let me get you something to drink."

He followed her into the kitchen. It was lit with the soft yellow glow from the stove hood's light. She took another wine glass down from the cabinet and poured from her opened bottle of wine. She took up both glasses in either hand and turned. Cecelia didn't realize Remy was standing so close behind her and she startled. Wine sloshed down the side of one of the glasses and down the back of her hand.

"Oh!" she said, and pushed the glass toward him. "Take this." When he took the glass she raised her arm and the trickle of wine began to run down her forearm. Hastily, she ran her tongue over her wrist, then the back of her hand. When she looked up at him, she felt her face burn. He was watching her with an intensity that made the muscles in her belly clench. His eyes flicked from her mouth to meet her eyes. He reached past her and set the wine glass onto the counter behind her, bringing himself even closer. She could even smell him now and feel the warmth of his body.

He took her other wine glass from her unresisting hand and put it onto the counter as well. He backed up slightly to look down into her face. Remy put his hands onto her bare shoulders and ran his hands down her biceps, then back up again. "I need you in my life," he told her earnestly. There was such a sound of longing in his voice. Her heart felt over-large, like it was going to leap out of her chest.

She blamed the sappy, sentimental contrived work of overwrought fiction she'd just been reading on what she said next: "I need you, too."

She had to stand on her toes and pull down on the lapels of his jacket to reach his lips. When she kissed him, her whole body relaxed into his. His arms pulled her tightly against him. Yes, this is what she wanted. Didn't his words make her heart sing? _I need you..._ She loved to be needed, to be the one who had all the answers, who was always right. This felt right. She'd never felt this way before, like a passionate woman with passionate desires.

Cecelia pulled back from the embrace. She took his hand and lead him from the kitchen, through the living room and into her bedroom. He followed as he had when she'd first pulled him into her apartment. Inside her bedroom, she turned and pushed his coat from his shoulders. It fell in a puddle at his feet. She moved to his shirt; he seemed to be wearing several. How he wasn't sweating, she didn't know. She pulled off one layer, then the next. She found him in a form fitted undershirt. She ran her hands over the expanse of his chest. Remy touched her face softly. She looked up at him again, at his beautiful mouth, and kissed him. Cecelia pulled her fingers through his hair. She wanted him so badly.

She stepped back and shucked her robe, pulled her top over her head. She reached out and pulled the hem of his shirt up. He took her hands in his own.

"This is what you need?" Remy asked.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He slipped out of his shirt. Cecelia pulled loose the drawstring of her pajama bottoms and pushed them to the floor. She stood naked in front of him. Remy reached out and trailed his fingertips down the length of her neck, across her clavicles, down to her breasts. His touch was slow and deliberate. Cecelia had imagined that he would be amorous, that they'd come together in a wild embrace; but he seemed mesmerized by the sight of her as his hands whispered down her sides and across her stomach. She sucked in a breath. Her hands moved to his jeans, but he took her hands again. He moved towards her and she backed up until the backs of her knees met the edge of the mattress. Remy leaned down and kissed his way down her neck, then lower. He continued kissing his way down her body until he was kneeling in front of her. Remy tugged her arms until she sat on the bed.

Remy stood and leaned her back onto the bed, covering her with his body. She loved the feel of his bare chest against her own. Again her hands moved to his hips, but he pushed her hands away. His mouth moved to her breast and she gasped and she held his head to her with one hand. Her other hand ran across his shoulder and down one arm to his hand that cupped her opposite breast. She sighed when he released her to continue downwards. His hands were on her knees, parting her legs.

Cecelia's mouth opened and she softly said: "Oh," when his mouth moved between her thighs. His hands ran up the insides of her legs. His tongue and fingers were very deft. He was touching her in a way that at first felt a little uncomfortable, until it didn't. She felt the pull of something building deep inside and her legs went rigid. Her back arched and she cried out. The clenching sensation and ultimate release seemed to go on for several prolonged moments. There was a lot of warm wetness between her thighs, on the mattress. She hadn't had a reaction like that before. It was a little embarrassing.

Remy sat back on his heels. His eyes were very dark, his lips swollen. His hands rested on her knees as he looked up at her. Cecelia desperately pulled him forward. She wanted more. Now he was on the bed with her and she fumbled at the waist of his jeans.

"Cece..." her name was a whispered a caution.

"Don't worry," she whispered back and smiled. "I'm prepared."

He pinned her hands up over her head and kissed her deeply. His body lay fully against her own. She moved her hips up against his and felt...nothing. Cecelia drew back and looked up into his face. "Uhm...is everything...okay?" she whispered.

Remy sighed and put his face down into the mattress beside her head. "Cece..." he said again. "I can't..."

"Can't?" she said, staring up at the dark ceiling.

"I'm sorry," he said despairingly.

Cecelia took his shoulder and pushed him until he moved away. He rolled to his side and looked up at her. "I just can't..." he said.

Cecelia sat and moved up onto the bed, to the side she customarily slept on. She looked down at Remy, who was not looking at her at all, but staring despondently at the ceiling. "Oh," she said flatly. Her face felt like it was on fire. _Okay_, the rational doctor part of her brain said, _sometimes these things happen_. But she didn't want to be the rational doctor. She wanted to be passionate. She wanted to be desirable. Something that was becoming very obvious to her that she was not. She felt humiliated. Why did he do those things to her if he didn't want her? Didn't he just say he needed her?

She lay back onto the mattress, pulled the covers out from under her body and pulled them over her nakedness.

Remy sat up on an elbow and looked at her. "I'm sorry," he said again, and put his hand on her shoulder.

She turned over to stare at the window. "Don't," she said. "I just need...to get some sleep."

Remy sat up against the headboard. She could feel his gaze on the side of her face. She wished he wouldn't look at her. She wished he would just leave so she could maybe cry a little.

"Does it make you sad?" he asked. She turned her head to look at him. He was now looking at the print on her wall.

"Does what make me sad?" she said, her voice a little hard.

"That picture," he said, staring at it. "Did you choose it because you're a doctor?"

He wasn't making any sense. "No," she said. "It matches my bedroom."

He looked down at her, confounded.

"Why would my being a doctor have anything to do with that print?" she asked.

"Because...Christina has polio...and maybe you could help her."

"Who is Christina?" Cecelia asked.

"De woman in de picture," he gestured at it, then let his arm drop to the mattress. "_Christina's World_. It's sad." His gaze returned to the print. "Her legs won't carry her, she has t'drag herself...all that way by herself. T'get back home."

Cecelia looked at the print again. The woman in a pink dress was looking up at the gray house across the expanse of muted yellow and brown. "I think she looks determined," Cecelia said. "She doesn't need anyone. She can do it on her own."

Remy looked back at her, his expression bleak. "I'd like t'see how things look through your eyes. I want t'see things how you do. The right way."

Cecelia turned over onto her back and folded her arms over her chest. "There's no right way or wrong way. It's open to interpretation."

"I was wrong," Remy said slowly. "T'try t'be what you needed. I wanted t'be...right."

Cecelia swallowed, her throat tightening.

"I should go," he told her and moved to stand. She didn't stop him.

She felt him slide from the bed and saw him retrieve his clothing. "Will I see you tomorrow?" he asked her. His voice sounded very far away, lost.

"What's tomorrow?" she asked, turning away and pulling the covers up to her chin.

"Wednesday," he answered.

"I'm on call," she lied.

"Okay," he said. Then he was gone.

It wasn't okay. When the phone rang, startling her out of her sleep, Cecelia was angry. She looked at the caller ID. It said: Unknown. She ignored it and tried to return to her sleep. The phone buzzed, letting her know she'd received a voice mail. Remy never spoke to her voice mail. He'd told her once he didn't like to have his voice recorded. He usually left a text instead. He must be really desperate.

Cecelia moved through her day, ardently trying to distract herself from the memory of the night before. Her phone rang two more times and she continued to ignore it. She felt a pang of guilt that she wouldn't be seeing Idie tonight, that she lied to Remy about where she would be. But she couldn't face him. It was so embarrassing.

When she knew that Remy would have taken Idie to her class, Cecelia picked up the phone and opened her voice mail.

"Doctor Reyes? This is Doctor Drumm, Remy LeBeau's doctor. If you could please return my call-."

Cecelia's stomach flipped over. It wasn't Remy calling her after all. What did Drumm want? He'd never called her before. She hastily redialed Doctor Drumm's number. It didn't ring, but went straight to voice mail. "Doctor Drumm? This is Cecelia, returning your call."

She heard the tone that signaled she had an incoming phone call. She quickly answered, cutting off her voice mail message. "Remy?" she asked into the phone.

"No...Doctor Reyes. It's Jericho Drumm. I am sorry to be calling you at all hours-."

"No, that's okay," she said hurriedly. "Is everything all right?"

Doctor Drumm sighed. "No, I'm afraid not. Did Remy come to see you yesterday?"

Cecelia's felt her face and neck grow hot. "Yes," she admitted.

"Did he seem...out of sorts to you?" Drumm asked.

"Uhm...no. Well, maybe. He was a little...lethargic," she stammered.

"That would have been the sedatives," Drumm said. "I don't think he gave himself enough time to recover. He wasn't driving was he?"

"I-I don't know," Cecelia answered. _Sedatives_? she thought. _Oh no_.

"Was there anything else, did you notice...if he was behaving violently or...?"

"No, nothing like that," she said. "He might have been-unhappy. He seemed-sad."

There was a pause. "Well, that's to be expected. I'm glad he followed my directions and went to you first. I wish he'd have stayed put, but all things considered, it could have been a lot worse."

"What's happened? Did something happen to him?" Cecelia asked, her heart in her throat.

"I was just on the phone with Hank McCoy," Drumm responded. "There has been some kind of mistake with Remy's prescription. He's been transferred to a facility."

"Oh my god," Cecelia whispered.

"He's in good hands," Drumm said. "I'll be speaking with him soon. He just needs some time."

When the call ended, Cecelia felt as if she'd had a terrible shock. This was more than embarrassing...this was pure mortification. This was Doctor Cecelia Reyes taking advantage of a drugged man and then kicking him out of her apartment. She put her head in her hands. There could be no wordless apology this time. This was an on-your-knees, begging-for-forgiveness kind of situation. Maybe there was another way? Maybe she could make him dinner? She could make one of her mother's recipes she knew by heart. He liked spicy food, she could do spicy easily. She began to think of what ingredients she'd need to buy. She groaned despairingly. This wasn't going to work. What what she going to say: _Sorry for emasculating you, have some fried plantains_?

She thought she could go visit him. She could see the East River from her apartment, The Raft was not far away. But then she realized she'd need security clearance, and he might be out by the time she'd get it. She would just have to wait until Remy was released. Cecelia threw herself into her work to distract herself from the guilt she felt. She realized she'd only heard what she wanted to hear. He had said: _I need you in my life_, not _I need you _in my bed_. _He needed a friend, not a lover. He needed someone he could count on. Cecelia had failed him miserably.

A few days later, Bobby Drake phoned her. She barely recalled the conversation she had with him. She processed the facts, thanked Bobby for telling her, and then hung up the phone. She stared at the face of her cell phone for a few moments, then dialed another number.

"Remy is dead," Cecelia told Laura.

There was a long pause. "How?" Laura asked in her low, quiet voice.

"Drowned in the East River," Cecelia said.

"Is there a body?" Laura asked, her voice even and matter-of-fact.

Cecelia was struck dumb by the directness of her question. "They're looking for him," she answered finally.

"When they find his body, then I'll believe it," Laura said, then hung up. She had worse etiquette than Remy.

Cecelia supposed she shouldn't blame Laura for being so brusque. For Laura, seeing...or maybe _smelling-_was believing. She relied on her senses to tell her the facts. But Cecelia lived in the real world, where dead was dead. Falling into the river with your arms and legs bound in chains was a definitive ending. Cecelia had gone straight past the Denial Stage of Grief and straight on into Anger, something she was comfortable with. She entertained the possibility of murdering Magneto. She might not even get into trouble for it. Someone might give her a goddamn Medal of Honor. Cecelia fantasized about stabbing Magneto right in the heart. She'd need a plastic knife to fight the Master of Magnetism, she supposed. Cecelia didn't know if such a thing existed outside of cafeterias and picnics.

That Magneto could just walk into a prison and walk back out was unfathomable to Cecelia. He was the one who belonged behind bars, not Remy. Magneto was the crazy person. When his own island nation idea didn't pan out, he just got himself an asteroid, and flew him and his worshippers out into space armed with some nuclear missiles. Because that's a perfectly reasonable thing to do, right? Cecelia had been working at the hospital when Magneto had shut down Earth's power. How many people had died that night without life support? How many too tiny babies had stopped breathing with no ventilators? And that was just the caboose of the Magneto Crazy Train. Remy seemed to be living his life completely on accident. Magneto, on the other hand, very purposefully tried to have Gambit killed. And Gambit _forgave him_. Magneto, conversely, harbored years' worth of resentment.

Cecelia recalled the time she'd told Remy about Neverland and what had happened to her there. She told him about how she'd escaped when so many others had died. That she'd left them all behind so that she could live, and was now indebted to Doctor Windsor, a.k.a. Sinister. She didn't want to be forgiven or told it was okay.

Instead, Remy had told her: "Sometimes you play de bum hand you've been dealt. Maybe someday you'll learn the purpose of why this happened to you. Be given de opportunity to use what you've suffered to help someone else. The way I have. Can't live your life lamenting how unfair things can be. It makes you a wreck of a person. It's selfishness."

Cecelia hated going to bed, she avoided it. Instead she wandered around her apartment, trying to find things to occupy herself. She was straightening up her living room when she found her romance novel stuffed under the couch cushions. Angrily, she picked it up and stomped over to her kitchen and tossed the book in the trash where it belonged. She stared at it a few moments, then fished it back out. There was a playing card inside that she had been using as a book mark. Cecelia picked it up and took a dishrag off the oven door to wipe the Schezwan sauce from her Chinese take-out off of it. The Queen of Spades; it must have meant something to Remy. But now she'd never know what.

Cecelia returned to the couch and sat down. There were no books to read, no glasses of wine, no movies, and no phone calls. Nothing to divert her attention to more light-hearted things. No research to do, no articles to look up, no meetings to attend, no kids to drive to class. Nobody needed her, she was all alone. She lay back on the couch and closed her eyes.

In her dream, Remy was in her bed again. He was shirtless and he was in pain. Cecelia was standing over him. When she touched him with her hands, she only hurt him more. His eyes pleaded with her: _Please stop_. Cecelia didn't want to stop, she wanted to fix this and make it better. She put her hand over his heart. When he opened his mouth to cry out, water gushed from his lips.

_ You will need to prepare for surgery_, Sinister said. She looked up at him. He was standing in her bedroom in front of the door. There was no escape. _Scalpel,_ she prompted. Sinister raised his arm. In his hand, he held a sword by the grip, the blade pointed downward. Cecelia took it from his hands. It was very heavy, she could barely lift it. The tip of the blade rested on Remy's chest, over his heart. Both of her hands were wrapped around the hilt. Sinister put his hand on the pommel. _Swords cut through Hearts_, he told her and while Cecelia held the blade steady, he pushed down on the blade.

Cecelia jerked awake. She was breathing heavily. Outside, the sky was lightening. Dawn was coming. She rubbed her hand over her face and sat up. She wasn't sure if she'd ever sleep again. There was a knock at her door and she jumped, her nerves on edge. Cecelia stared at the door, feeling uneasy. The knock came again. Slowly, she stood and walked to it. She peered through the peephole. There was no one there.

With the security bar in place, Cecelia opened the door a fraction and looked down the hall. Still no one.

"What are _you_ looking at?" asked a querulous voice.

Cecelia slammed the door shut, threw back the bar, and reopened the door. Looking to the left she saw a woman facing away from her, staring down the hall at Cecelia's nosy neighbor. Hastily, Cecelia grabbed the woman by her arm and dragged her into her apartment, then slammed the door. Callisto was glaring at her with her one blue eye.

"Callisto," Cecelia breathed. "What are you doing here?"

"Healer," Callisto said, "Sarah needs your help. Will you come?"

Cecelia gave a decisive nod and turned to collect her things. At last, the opportunity to help. Someone needed her after all.

* * *

><p><em>Next time: Please don't take my sunshine away. Or the saddest darn thing I ever done wrote.<em>


	43. Nothing Is The Only Thing

_Only time will tell if I'll allow  
>The scenery around<br>To eat me alive  
>I want to sleep for weeks like a dog at her feet<br>Even though I know it won't work out in the long run  
>So I burn down the walls, breathe like a shadow<br>Those arms I once knew hold me like ghosts  
>I learn how to speak forgotten language<br>I fall in the sea but forget how to swim  
>When anything that's anything becomes nothing that's everything<br>And nothing is the only thing you ever seem to have  
><em>-Van Helsing Boombox, Man Man

The monster was standing over her, a dark terrible figure with shaggy hair, sharp teeth, and claws. It was dark but she could make out a glint of light reflecting from his malicious grin. He was going to kill her, like he'd killed the others...and her mommy. There was blood on her face and hands. Not her blood, but the blood from the only family she knew. She sobbed in terror and curled herself up small as he reached for her with his clawed hand.

Suddenly, the darkness faded and a bright hot light filled the space. The monster turned toward it with a snarl.

"Stop!" someone cried. Behind the monster, she could see another figure standing, silhouetted by the light which he held in his hands. He brandished the light at the monster who snarled and dropped back. Now the monster was so close she could smell him; sweat, blood, and wet fur. Blood dripped from his claws to splash on her face and neck.

She looked up at the man with the lights. Red eyes in a pale face looked down at her and he startled. He too was splattered with blood. He pulled his lights back, suddenly afraid. When the light faded for a moment the monster struck. She screamed when she saw the monster cut the man down, and the dwindling lights fell from his hands to fizzle in the bloody water at his feet. There was a sudden staccato sound of gunfire and the monster howled, his back arching. Another man emerged from the tunnel, a gun in his hand. One of the murderers. She ducked and threw her arms over her head.

"You don't belong here!" the gunman said, seizing the red-eyed man by his shoulder.

"Greycrow..." the man said miserably. "Why...?"

"Get out! Go!" Greycrow cried and shoved the man forward, past the crumpled form of the monster, who was now beginning to rise again.

The man stumbled away, then turned. She could see his long coat flaring as he spun and he vaulted over the monster. He landed with a splash and suddenly she was in his arms. She screamed. He was stealing her! Her hands clung to the devil-man's coat as he ran. She was borne down the tunnel. She could hear the monster snarling, more gunfire. The devil-man was holding her tightly and breathing hard. He splashed through water and leapt over debris, jarring her as he ran. He turned around corners, ducked under pipes, ran down tunnels she had never been in before. The sounds of people screaming and dying, barks of horrifying laughter, and shattering explosions were dwindling. There was only sound of his breathing and her sobs of fright.

When they turned another corner, he slipped and they both crashed to the ground. She was thrown from his arms to slide across the wet ground. Her face and shoulder scraped across concrete, and for a moment she was stunned. She sat up slowly and looked up. There was an angel pinned up against the tile wall, and the angel was dead. His feathers were on the ground, spotted with blood. She picked one up and stared at it, mystified. The devil-man who had carried her was struggling to stand. She moved to scramble away from him, but he seized her again. She shrieked, and the angel stirred. He was not dead after all. She reached for the beautiful angel. He would save her from this devil.

The devil started forward, his gait uneven and footing unsure. He had to use the walls for support. Through his ragged breathing, he spoke: "Don't cry...don't cry, _petite_..."

She couldn't stop her hysterical weeping. She hiccuped and choked on her sobs. "Listen t'me," the devil said. "Listen t'my voice. Don't cry now..."

His voice was low and ragged. The devil was walking now, holding her tightly so that she could not squirm away. "Let's sing a song," he said softly. "I know one you'll like." She tried to push away. She kicked at him weakly.

"My Tattie sang it t'me. It's a song from my own home state."

Defeated, she wept into his shoulder and hung limply in his arms.

"Listen now: _You are my-sunshine...my-only sunshine...,_" he sang softly as he walked. They had come to a metal ladder leading upwards.

"_You make me-happy...when skies are gray..._" She felt a sudden stillness come over her. She let her head drop, lean into his chest.

He shifted her in his arms. "Hold on t'me now," he said in the same soothing voice. She put her arms around his neck.

He continued to sing as he began to climb. "_You'll never-know dear...how much-I love you..._"

Once at the top of the ladder, he spilled out into another access tunnel onto his back. She lay on top of him, listening to his heavy breathing. Slowly, he climbed to his feet. He continued to walk, carrying her in his arms. She was exhausted. His song had numbed her and made her sleepy. His strides rocked her into a daze. She had no idea how long they walked. It was dark, but they were no longer in the tunnels. They were in the city, walking down dark alleys.

At last he stopped and they came to a metal door. He opened it and now they were inside a building. He started up a staircase that switched back and forth, back and forth. They came to another door which he opened and they passed through. Now they were in a room. The devil-man turned and closed the door and locked it. He carried her across the room. She could see a kitchen, a couch, and a table. When the light came on it was startlingly bright and she hid her face in his shoulder.

The devil-man sat her on a hard cold surface. She looked around. They were in a bathroom and she was sitting on the counter with the sink. The devil-man backed up and slouched against the wall, then slid down it. He left a trail of blood and mud down the white wall. For a while he sat with his head on his knees. Then he moved and shrugged out of his coat and pulled his shirt over his head. He was wearing something underneath, a black stiff shirt, which he unbuckled.

"Aaagh..." he hissed. "Fu-udge...!" There were claw marks torn into the hard black shirt. Only one claw mark went all the way through. There was a ragged tear the devil-man's stomach which seeped red blood. The devil-man regained his feet, reached past her and turned on the tap. He splashed water onto his face. She saw then that he was not old and scary-looking as she'd thought. He was beautiful like the angel.

He looked at her for a moment, water dripping off his chin and hair. His eyes were strange and sad. He walked over to the bathtub and turned the spigot. Water poured into the bath. When he turned back to her, she shrunk back.

"I won't hurt you," he said, holding up his hands. "I promise."

His words made her want to believe him.

"Stick 'em up," he said, and gestured for her to raise her arms. When she complied, he pulled her filthy shirt over her head. He picked her up again and sat her on the edge of the tub. He pulled off her grimy sneakers, then slipped off her shorts. He sat her into the water. She stared up at him and he looked down at her. He reached up and picked up a bottle, then dumped its contents into the stream of water. Bubbles began to form and froth the water. He pulled a small towel down from the wall and handed it to her. "Here," he said, putting a bar of soap into her other hand. "Have at it. I need t'patch myself up."

She swished the towel around through the bubbles, marveling at their pretty whiteness. The man sat on the toilet lid, reaching to open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. He yelped and held the wound in his side. She watched him clean his wound, then bandage it. The soap squeezed through her hands and disappeared into the water. She fumbled around for it, moving through mountains of bubbles. The man reached over and turned off the water. The room was suddenly quiet save for a few soft drips from the faucet and the sound of bubbles popping. The man reached over and plucked the towel from the water, then scrubbed her face with it.

He looked into her face. "Look at you. You're pink...like a little piglet."

She screwed up her face at him. She was not a piglet!

He touched her brow. There was a bone growing strange from it. She had another on her cheek she could just see if she looked down. There was another bone that stuck out from the side of her chin. She picked at it until he pushed her hand away. "Does that hurt?" he asked.

She shook her head no, but it did, a little.

"Brave girl," he told her. "Be right back." He stood and left. She tried to gather the bubbles but they were fading fast, leaving nothing but gray water. When the man came back, he was wearing different clothes. He had a big towel, which he held out to her. "Stand up, careful now."

She obeyed and he wrapped the towel around her, then picked her up and set her on the rug on the floor. She watched his face while he dried her off. His face was still wet, so were his eyes, and his mouth was frowning and sad. He put the towel back on the bar, then picked up a tee-shirt he had brought with him. He pulled it over her head. It was very big on her and hung to her feet.

"C'mon," he told her and led her by the hand into the other room. He picked up a blanket from the couch, sat her on the couch and covered her with the blanket. He knelt on the floor in front of the couch. "What's your name?" he asked her.

"Saywa," she answered.

He blinked at her. "Sarah?" he asked.

She nodded.

"I'm Remy."

"Wemmy."

"_Remy_," he repeated.

"Way-me."

He smiled a little. "Y'can call me..._ami_. How's dat? Means...friend."

"Ami," she said.

"D'you like Big Bird?" Ami asked her.

She didn't know what Big Bird was.

Ami stood and walked towards a television. He opened a drawer in a cabinet, then removed a flat plastic box. He opened it and there was a shiny disc inside. Ami went to the television, pressed a button, and a tray slid out. He put the disc into the tray and closed it. "I like Bert and Ernie, myself," he told her. The television came on. Sarah stared, transfixed.

On the screen, children were playing in a playground and a song was being sung. _Sunny day...Sweepin' the...clouds away...  
><em>

Ami crossed the room to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle. From the cabinet he took a glass and poured the contents of the bottle into it.

_On my way...to where the air is sweet..._

Ami walked over and sat beside her on the couch. He handed her the glass, which she took in both hands.

_Can you tell me how to get...How to get to Sesame Street?_

When the song was over, Ami turned to her. "I'm gone have t'take care of some things, _petite_. You just stay put now, y'hear? Watch dis show. I'll be back before they get t'de end. Drink your juice."

Sarah watched for a moment as Ami left, but her eyes were drawn back to the magic of the screen. She put the lip of the glass to her mouth and took a sip. It was orange juice. It tasted like sunshine.

On the screen, a bird walked down the street. He was big and yellow. He had a friend with him, a big hairy elephant-looking friend. The bird was laughing and talking with his friend one moment, but when Bird turned, the elephant wandered away. Bird was greeting new friends and wanted to show them his best friend, Mister Snuffleupagus, but he had vanished! The adults did not believe Big Bird when he told them Snuffy had just been there.

Ernie had a banana in his ear. Bert told him to take the banana out of his ear. Ernie told him he was using it to keep alligators away. Oscar lived in a trash can and had a friend who was a worm. He loved trash. When people bothered him he said: SCRAM! Twelve ladybugs had a picnic, doo-doo-doot-doo. Grover delivered a singing telegram to an angry blue man. Cookie Monster ate cookies, and The Count counted bats.

Sarah's orange juice was gone, she drank it all. She put the glass aside. The show was brought to her by the letter B and the number seven. On the screen, children were running after a big shaggy orange and white dog. Then the show was over, and she was looking at a new screen. The happy song played in the background, but nothing happened. Sarah looked at the door, but Ami was not back. Sarah put her head on a pillow and watched the screen. The show was over. Ami was not back. Sarah pulled the blanket over her head. What if the monster came instead? What if he found her here? Sarah began to cry. She peeked out of her blanket. There was something white on the floor. It was the angel feather.

Sarah dashed out from under the blanket, ran to the feather, picked it up and ran back to the couch. She scrambled back under the blanket and held the feather to her mouth. Please let Ami come. Or let the angel find her. She pressed her face into the pillow. When she heard the door open she shrieked and made herself into a small ball. Something touched her back and she screamed again. The feather was crushed in her grip.

"Sarah," Ami said. "Don't cry. Little piglet..."

Sarah gasped. She sat and and threw back the blanket. Ami was standing over her. "No, Ami!" she said.

Ami sat beside her. He had a bag. "Here, I'm only teasin'. I have some things for you. You can pick what you like."

He put the bag in her lap. There were clothes inside. She timidly touched one of the bright colors. She pulled it out. It was yellow like Big Bird. Ami took her to a bedroom and opened the closet. There was a mirror on the inside of the door. "Do you need help?" he asked.

"I can do it," she told him. She found a pair of orange pants. The shoes were pink and they had lights in them. She was so excited, she put them on first, then realized she couldn't put on the pants. She took the shoes back off. Ami was taking things out of the closet and putting them into a duffel bag. Sarah pulled on underpants. She took off the oversized shirt and put on the yellow dress, the orange pants and the pink shoes. She went over to the mirror and looked at herself. She picked at the bone sticking out of her chin.

"Here, now," Ami said, and pulled her hand away. He went to the bag of clothes and pulled out a floppy hat. He put it on her head. It was straw-yellow with a yellow flower.

"Don't you look like a little ray of sunshine?" he asked her.

She looked in the mirror again. Ami tied her shoe. "We have t'go," he told her quietly.

"No, Ami," Sarah began to cry. She did not want to go back to the place where the monster was.

"Don't cry. It's an adventure. Have you ever been on a train?" he asked her.

She shook her head. There were trains above the tunnels, but she'd never been on one.

"It'll be fun," Ami said. "We're going to a new place. I've never been. The Windy City. It's far away from here."

Sarah sniffled. Ami picked up her things and stuffed them into his bag. "C'mon," he said and she followed him back into the living room. "Let's hurry."

"Ami," Sarah said, pointing at the television screen. "Big Bird."

Ami took the disc from the television, put it back in the box and stuck it in his bag. Sarah found her feather from the couch and gave it to him too. It was mangled and dirty now, not pretty at all.

"That don't belong t'us," he said.

Sarah looked at it sadly and set it on the table. They left it behind. Now they were outside and Ami was hurrying her through the streets. It was now light out, but they didn't stay out in the light for long. They went into a dark kind of place with lots of people. Ami said it was called Penn Station. They boarded a blue and silver train. She and Ami walked down an aisle with seats on either side. They stopped at a pair of chairs and Ami gestured to the seat.

"Here, you sit by de window," he told her. Sarah climbed into the seat. Ami put the bag away and sat beside her. "Are you sleepy?" he asked her.

She shook her head. She looked out the window at the people walking past. Ami straightened her hat on her head. Sarah had never before seen so many people in one place. She was supposed to keep hidden from them. They would hate her if they saw her, because she was ugly. But more people were getting on the train and no one was looking at her. They were all too busy.

Ami sat in his seat and held his side where the monster had cut him. He was wearing sunglasses. Sarah thought he might go to sleep. The train began to move and she heard the bell go ding, ding, ding. They were sliding out of the dark, the dark Penn Station. Sarah watched as they rode out into the light, saw the city streets full of cars go past, leaving ugly brick and steel and concrete behind. They left the city. Sarah had never been outside the city. She had never seen so much green grass, trees, hills, rivers, and lakes. Sarah stared at the landscape. It was even better than watching it on the television.

Ami seemed to be asleep, even though it was still day. Sarah just wanted to see the sun, but it was somewhere up above the train and she couldn't see. It eventually faded from the sky without her ever seeing it, even though they were driving straight towards it while it set. The landscape grew dark and Sarah could see her reflection in the glass. She picked at her chin again. Ami reached out and took her hand and held it. "You hungry?" he asked her.

She was. "Stay here, I'll be right back," he whispered. He gave her a blanket and covered her with it. She looked after him fearfully. She was surrounded by people she didn't know. She hid under the blanket. Ami returned and pulled the blanket down. "You don't need t'hide," he said. "You're safe now."

He put a plate on her lap. She picked up a green bean and put it in her mouth while staring at the dark window. When the food was gone, he took her plate away. She lay back in her seat and fell asleep. The sun woke her up, it was bright on her face. Ami led her from her chair and she used the potty. They went into a different car and sat at a table. Sarah kept her hat pulled down. She looked out the window and farmlands were going past.

"Hawsies!" she exclaimed, and pointed. Horses were in a field eating dewy grass in the morning sunlight.

Ami smiled at her. "Hawsies," he repeated.

"What'll you have?" a voice asked. Sarah turned. A woman was standing at their table. She stared at Sarah. Her mouth opened and her eyes got big.

"You've got eyes for my special rose?" Ami asked the waitress. Her eyes flicked to him. He'd taken off his glasses and was staring at her. He smiled softly. "She's got a few thorns, but then we all do."

"Oh," she said, and she smiled back.

"You want some breakfast?" Ami asked Sarah. The waitress reluctantly looked away from Ami, then back at Sarah. "Tell her what you want, _petite_."

The woman was holding a pitcher in her hand. "Ah-winge juice," she pointed.

The woman blinked a few times. "Sure, hon," she said, then poured the juice into Sarah's glass.

They arrived in The Windy City. The Union Station was everything the Penn Station was not. It was bright and tall and beautiful with a high arched ceiling. Sarah marveled upwards with her mouth open. She held Ami's hand. They walked along the city streets. Ami had to walk slowly so Sarah could keep up with him. Even though there were lots of cars and people and streets and bridges, Ami knew where he was going. They came to a tall building and Ami took her inside. It was dark and narrow in the entry with a dirty black and white checkered floor. The staircase was wood and had been painted dark gray-brown many times. They went up and up. Ami went down a dingy hall and went to a door. It had been painted many times too. He opened the door and they went inside.

There was a man inside the dim room. He was seated at a table in front of a computer. The light from the screen shown on his face. He had dark hair and a long face. When he saw Ami, his eyes grew large and his expression changed to fear.

"Remy!" he exclaimed.

"'Lo, Theo. Didn't know you were in town," Ami said as he led Sarah by the hand into the room. He put his bag down on the couch.

"We thought you were dead!" Theo said and stood. "That you'd blown up!"

"Take a little more'n fire and brimstone t'finish me off," Ami told him.

Theo gaped at Ami, then looked at Sarah. "What you doin' with that child?" he asked.

"Got big plans for dis one," Ami said. "Navy Pier, Millennium Park, Sears Tower..."

Theo spat: "You're not fit t'look after any child!"

"She's de one lookin' after me," Ami said. Sarah pressed the back of his hand to her face. He looked down at her. "What say you be de lookout, enh?"

Theo shook his head, then pushed the screen of his computer down. "You think you're gonna find work in dis town?" he asked impatiently. "Dis is a Mob town. You'll end up in de river."

"Can't be worse'n Kingpin territory," Ami responded.

"You were in New York?" Theo goggled. "You'll end up in de river there too...full of bullet holes!"

"Enh, where's Eliot Ness when y'need him?" Ami said.

"Idiot," Theo said. He put his computer into a case. "Don't think I won't tell de Guild Master where you are."

"Send him my regards," Ami told him.

Theo shook his head and stormed out the door, closing it with a slam.

"Don't pay him no mind," Ami told Sarah. "He's a grouch."

Sarah pointed at the door. "Scram!" she cried.

Ami laughed. He picked her up and walked to the far side of the room. There was an upright piano there. He sat her on the bench. She pressed a few of the keys. Ami sat beside her. "Got an ear for music, _petite_?" he asked.

She smiled and nodded her head.

"Could never pick dis up myself," Remy said and pressed a pair of keys with two extended forefingers. "Couldn't sit still long enough t'learn. Can play this though."

He removed a silver rectangular object from his coat pocket. "I like de things you can take along wit' you."

"Whas that?" Sarah asked.

"Harmonica. Like what Bob Dylan has. You like Bob Dylan? He wrote a song about a girl like you."

Sarah didn't know someone wrote her a song. Remy blew a note through the harmonica. "_I can still see them playing with their pails in the sand...They run to the water their buckets to fill..I can still see the shells falling out of their hands...As they follow each other...back up the hill_..."

"_Sara, Sara...Wherever we travel we're never apart...Sara, Sara...Beautiful lady, so dear to my heart._.." Sarah liked his singing. It made her feel happy, her body loose and sleepy. Not scared at all.

It rained a lot in The Windy City, but that didn't stop them from going outside. The rain kept people running and ducking and hidden under umbrellas. Ami took Sarah with him wherever he went. They went to Navy Pier and walked past all the people, the shops, the restaurants, and the ferris wheel straight to the very end. There were dark quiet rooms with windows; amazing colored windows with lights behind them. The windows were like paintings. "Louis Comfort Tiffany," Ami said, pointing at the colored glass. One of the windows had an angel. It was beautiful.

Ami took her to a museum with big stone lions in front of the doors. There were paintings and sculptures. Ami took her to a huge painting that covered one wall. When you looked at it close, you could see it was made up of tiny dots. But when you stood back, all the colored dots came together to show a picture of people in a park. "Georges Seurat," Ami told her. Ami held her in his arms so she could see the smaller paintings close up.

"Hawsies," she said, pointing.

"Albrecht Dürer," Ami said. "How many hawsies?"

"Fahw. And one angel." Even though there was an angel, it was a scary picture, and the horses looked scared and the four horsemen looked mean.

Ami took her on a different train and they rode to a building that was all glass. There were trees and plants growing inside the glass house. There was even a river with fish. It was hot and steamy inside. "Ah, this is nice," Ami said. "Like back home."

When the left the glass house, they went down another rainy street in a quiet neighborhood. Ami was excited. "Oak Park," he said and his eyes were very bright. "Hemingway's home town. Frank Lloyd Wright's too! This is his house."

They stood in front of a dark green house, then went inside. It was dim in the house, but Ami was so excited. "His family home," Ami said. Sarah thought it too dark until they went into the studio. The white walls stretched up and up and the high ceiling was held up by chains. But how could that be? It was like magic. "It's so different from Taliesin West!" Ami said, looking up. "His last home in Arizona. I need t'take you, so you can see how much he changed. Well, his style changed. He was still a horrible jerk!"

They rode the train again and watched the city go by. She could see the river and the tall buildings. There was one that was taller than all the rest. They went into the tallest building in the middle of a storm. They were up in the sky and the clouds were below. When Sarah stood out in a glass box that stuck out from the building, it was like she was standing on the clouds like an angel. The storm passed below them, lightening flashing. But they were so so high it couldn't touch them.

When Sarah got tired they would go back to the apartment. They only stayed there to sleep, all other times they were busy busy busy. They didn't sleep much, because they were both afraid of the monster. So instead, they would watch Big Bird or Muppets, or play on the piano, or Ami would read from a book.

"'.._He has done everything in his power to help himself, and it is now up to somebody else to do something useful, because if they don't then he will have to swim, and he can't. And Piglet gives a long sigh at the futility of the situation and the nature of the Piglet condition, and once again wishes that he was with Pooh, because it is so much more friendly with two,'_" Ami read and showed her the pictures. Sarah decided being a piglet wasn't so bad, because you had Pooh for a friend even if his head was full of stuffing.

Sarah forgot how many days had gone by, but every day it was raining. Ami took her to a park. There was a huge shiny metal...thing...in the park. It looked like a bean and it reflected the sky and the buildings.

Ami pointed at it and said: "Cloud Gate."

They walked to it and it seemed to grow big in front of them. Ami and Sarah stood in front of it, their reflections strange and stretched in it's curved surface. Even though Sarah could see her wrong-growing bones in her reflection, she didn't pick at them. They went underneath the bean and looked up. They were reflected tiny and small on the inside of the bean.

Looking up, Ami said: "We'll be out of funds soon...can't leave you on your own while I work. I figure it's time I went home. You'll like N'Awlins. It's sunnier there. I'll have my Tante Mattie look after you nights. She'll love you as much as I do, I know it."

Sarah had a small plastic camera that Ami had given her. She held it up and took a picture of tiny Sarah and tiny Ami reflected in the bottom of the Cloud Gate. When they were under the bean, the sun came out. Sarah ran out into the light, Ami following slowly behind her. She looked up and squinted into the sun. Ami took her out into green grass. On one side of the park there was a twisty metal bridge, on the other, a huge theater that spread out like a spider web. Sarah took a picture of it. There was a yellow flower in the glass. It looked like the sun. She took a picture of that too. She picked it.

"Look, Ami," she said.

"Beautiful. Let me take your picture," he said. She handed him her camera and he looked down at her through the lens. "Say cheese," he said.

She grinned at him and held up her flower.

"Sing the song, Ami."

"What song d'you like, _petite_?" he asked her, putting her camera into his jacket pocket.

"Sunshine."

"All right," he said, and took her hand. He swung it back and forth as they walked. "But only if you sing wit' me."

"_You awh my sunshine...! My only sunshine...!_" Sarah sang.

"_You make me happy...when skies are gray..._" Ami responded.

"_You'll nevew know deaww...how much I love you...!_" she continued.

Ami stopped and stood still. Sarah looked up at him, but he was looking away. Sarah looked to see what he saw. She gasped and released Ami's hand. She ran across the grass.

"Callisto!" she cried and threw herself into Callisto's arms. Sarah was so happy to see her there, and out in the sunshine! She looked so different. She was so beautiful. Everything was beautiful in the sun. "Look!" she said, showing her the flower.

Callisto looked at Sarah and touched her face gently. Then she picked Sarah up. Without a word, she turned and began to walk. She was walking away from Ami. "No wait!" Sarah said. "Ami! Ami!"

Ami was still standing there, getting small as Callisto walked. Sarah struggled. "Stop, Callisto!"

Callisto stopped and turned. Ami began to walk towards them. He looked afraid.

"You didn't think you could keep her, did you?" Callisto asked when Ami was still a few feet away.

"You could kill me," he told her.

"I'd rather see you suffer. I want you to live forever knowing what you've stolen from me, what I'm taking from you. What you'll never have again," Callisto told him.

"I've all ready lost. My friends, my family...my freedom. If you take her, I'll have nothing," Ami said, his voice sad.

"You are nothing," Callisto said.

"Please," Ami begged. "I know I can't fix what I did...but is there nothing I can do? No way I can reconcile myself?"

Sarah put her head on Callisto's shoulder and started to cry. Why was Callisto so angry? Why was she making Ami so sad?

Callisto stared at Ami, her jaw working and her mouth a hard line. Finally, she spoke. "There's another who could use your help. Another girl."

Ami jumped upon this small offering, his expression desperate. "Where is she? Where can I find her?"

"Cairo," Callisto said.

"Egypt?" Ami asked.

"No...Illinois. South of here."

"Who is she? How will I find her?"

"Her name is Storm. You will know her when you find her."

Ami paused, perplexed. "But...Storm...? She's not a girl. She's one of-."

"You'll find her. You'll follow her," Callisto told him and then began to turn away.

"But-why? What could someone like her need from me?" Ami asked.

"She's a leader," Callisto said. "Something _you_ need."

Sarah reached out to Ami, but he did not come for her. Ami stood alone in the grass, getting smaller and smaller until she couldn't see him anymore. And Callisto took her away.

* * *

><p><em>Next time: Look! On the-ground?...It's not a bird, it's not a plane...Able to...climb staircases at an average rate...more powerful than a-uhm, well, she works out on occasion. It's SuperCeCe!<br>_

_Only a few more chapters left and it will all be over; the next one is kinda climactic, then a flashback, the big end scene, another small flashback, conclusion, and epilogue. Aw, I'll be sad not having your reviews to look forward to! I don't know what to think about this thing about people's stories getting deleted. I don't feel like I've written anything vulgar or gratuitous.  
><em>

_I now return you to the story all ready in progress...  
><em>


	44. Destroy Everything You Touch

_You only have to look behind you  
>At who's undermined you<br>Destroy everything you touch today  
>Destroy me this way<br>Everything you touch you don't feel  
>Do not know what you steal<br>Shakes your hand  
>Takes your gun<br>Walks you out of the sun  
>-<em>Destroy Everything You Touch, Ladytron

Cecelia had lost track of how long she had been down in the damp concrete chamber. Underground in the Morlock Tunnels without any daylight, she had no sense of time passing. She was currently functioning in a sort of detached haze. She had sent Callisto away. The woman had been hovering over Cecelia's shoulder, not necessarily getting in her way, but making herself a nuisance. Sarah's fever wasn't improving, so Cecelia told Callisto to make herself useful and go get some ice. Sarah was laying on a cot. Her rosy skin was covered in a sheen of sweat. Every once in awhile, her eyelids would flutter and she would mutter something unintelligible. Cecelia wiped the young woman's face with a damp cloth then sat back in her chair.

Sarah was a Rem, or a former mutant with visible remains of her former mutation. Splinters of bone still poked through her skin, but most of the fragments were brittle, crumbling, or broken. One such bone had snapped several inches under the skin of her left thigh. Because she no longer had the ability to heal herself, she had lost quite a lot of blood. Cecelia had spent some time staunching the flow of blood and had to use positively medieval medical techniques to remove the remainder of the bone growth. Fortunately, she had plenty of pain-killers on hand. Gambit had been pilfering medical supplies for Cecelia for several months. She thought he'd taken them from Mercy Medical, but she didn't ask questions. He knew Cecelia helped those street kids that would otherwise go without medical treatment if she didn't offer her assistance. So she let Gambit steal things for her and not a word had been spoken about it. Cecelia supposed now she'd have to go back to stealing the supplies herself and risk losing her job, her license, and her livelihood if she were ever caught.

In her current state, Sarah's face was contorted with pain. She had a perpetual frown, probably due to a lifetime of hardship. Cecelia smoothed the girl's choppy hair from her brow. She could feel the scrape of bone against her shields. In a way, Sarah reminded her of Laura. Maybe if she introduced the two of them, Laura and Sarah could become friends. Cecelia let her eyes close sleepily, and it felt so good it was several moments before she reopened them.

Exhausted, she slumped back in her chair and let her head fall back to lean against the wall. She was vaguely aware that Callisto had returned. Cecelia faded out for what seemed like a few moments. When she opened her eyes, she saw that Callisto was crouched at the bedside, feeding the semi-conscious Sarah ice chips. Cecelia closed her eyes again. She thought she heard Callisto speaking. That was good. That meant Sarah was now awake. Cecelia turned her head, seeking a more comfortable position. The chair was old and threadbare, but somewhat comforting in its worn out way. She dozed. Someone was singing quietly and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

When she woke, she felt much better. She sat up, stretched, and rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands. Blearily, she surveyed the room. What she saw nearly made her jump out of her skin.

"Remy!" she gasped, her voice loud in the close quarters.

He looked up at her. His eyes had been focused on Sarah's face which was now still and peaceful.

"You looked tired," he told her. "So I thought I'd let you sleep."

She couldn't believe her eyes. Gambit was sitting perched on the edge of the cot, holding one of Sarah's hands. He was wearing a black and gray uniform and his customary trench coat. He appeared in every way to be completely normal, whole, and very much not dead.

"You're alive," she said quietly.

"Mostly," he responded with a sort of lopsided smile.

Sarah's eyelids were heavy, but open. She turned her unfocused gaze from Cecelia to Gambit. Her reaction was delayed and came slowly like dawn sunlight creeping over the horizon. First, there seemed to be anger, then sadness. Finally, she lapsed into resignation.

"I brung you somethin'," Gambit told her quietly.

Her eyes slowly moved back to his face. Gambit reached into his coat and removed a short blade. It was black and sparkled in the light.

"Here," he said, wrapping one of her limp hands around it. "So you can protect yourself."

Her mouth worked soundlessly and a tear slipped from the corner of her eye.

He leaned close to her. "Bye, bye Sunshine," he said.

Sarah's eyes flashed open for a moment, startled. She moved to grasp at his jacket, but he had all ready stood. "I see you're in good hands," he told her then turned to Cecelia.

"How-?" she began.

Gambit held up his hand. His eyes looked skyward and he tilted his head to the side as if he were listening for some sound. "Three...two...one..." he said quietly. Suddenly, the acidic yellow lights that had been lighting the chamber and the outside tunnel turned off, leaving them in darkness. Not complete darkness, because Cecelia could just make out the faint glow of light from Gambit's eyes. A moment later, the lights flickered back on.

"What was-," Cecelia started, then froze. In the open doorway behind Gambit stood Sinister. Cecelia felt her knees turn to water and she crumpled to the floor, shrinking back in terror. She put her hand to her mouth, choking back a scream.

"That was my cue," Remy told her, oblivious to the fact that Sinister stood no more than a foot behind him.

"The surveillance equipment...?" Sinister began.

Without turning to acknowledge Sinister's presence, Remy gave a slow nod.

Sarah was trying to struggle to a sitting position. The blade Gambit had given her was clutched in her hand. Her face was a mask of rage and hatred. She choked out a strangled cry and fell from the cot.

Gambit crouched to pick her back up. She pulled away.

"You-brought-_him_?" she snarled.

Gambit moved back and stood. Sinister put his hand on Gambit's shoulder. "We were only passing through," Sinister told her, a soft smile on his lips. He touched his fingers to his forehead as if to tip an invisible hat. "Doctor Reyes, a pleasure."

Cecelia sat frozen with fear. She reached out with stiff arms to pull Sarah back, to shelter her behind her shields.

Gambit frowned at them both sadly. "Looks like I'm out of time," he told them. "Tell Callisto I'm sorry I didn't get t'say goodbye."

"Remy," Cecelia gasped, but the two men had moved from the door, down the tunnel, and out of sight.

Sarah tried to pull herself away from Cecelia to follow after them, but she was too weak. She slouched and fell forward. Cecelia caught her before she could fall onto her face. Heaving backwards, Cecelia pulled Sarah back onto the cot. The young woman was so thin but tall and it was hard to maneuver her. Cecelia finally pulled Sarah partially onto the cot then picked up her legs and settled them onto the mattress. She picked up the blade. It seemed to be made of plastic. Cecelia placed it back into Sarah's hand, though Sarah was unconscious again. Cecelia pulled a blanket over Sarah's still form.

Cecelia peered down the tunnel, searching for Gambit and Sinister. They were gone. Her breathing was ragged, both from fright and exertion. She glanced at Sarah then back down the tunnel. Why hadn't Callisto returned? Steeling herself, Cecelia started down the tunnel. She trotted at a brisk pace, stopping at the end of the tunnel where it branched off in two directions. She looked down one side, then the other. In the dim light, she could just make out two figures turning a corner at the end of the right tunnel. She ran after them. Cecelia was trying to be quiet, but her footfalls sounded loud in the damp echoing space. She slowed at each turning and peered around each corner, trying to keep Gambit in Sinister within sight. She came to a main artery; tunnels branched off in various directions. She had lost track of Gambit and Sinister.

Panicked, she ran from one tunnel opening to another. She would glance down one, see nothing, then run to the next. When she visited each tunnel with no sign of where they had gone, she started over again. Cecelia dashed around a corner and found herself, or rather her shield, colliding into another body. She gave a squawk of surprise and hastily backed up, fearing it was Sinister. It was Gambit.

"Go back," he told her. "Sarah needs you. You don't belong here."

"We have no need of further medical expertise," Sinister said from somewhere down the tunnel. The man's voice chilled her blood. "I would prefer to make use of Cecelia's skills at some other juncture."

Gambit glanced down the tunnel as Sinister approached. "You said you'd leave her be," he warned.

Sinister smiled. "So we've agreed," he said.

Gooseflesh rose on Cecelia's arms. "What-what did you agree?" she asked.

Gambit turned back to her. "Nothin', _chere_. Don't worry. Everything is fine now."

She felt a rising sense of alarm, followed close by fury. "What did you agree to?" she hissed at him.

Gambit reached out and took her by the shoulders. He turned her and pushed her gently. "Go back to reality. Go back t'your normal life. He won't bother you no more."

Cecelia's hands clenched into fists. "How dare you make decisions for me?" she shouted, whirling on him. "You don't get to assume responsibility for my actions!"

Gambit looked at her, his expression confused. "I-I wanted to protect you," he said.

"I don't need you to rescue me! I can protect myself! How could you be so stupid?" Cecelia yelled.

Sinister was smiling vaguely. "A lovers' quarrel? Remy, I find your taste in women to be baffling, but at last you've made a choice I approve of."

Gambit shot him a disgusted glare, then turned back to Cecelia. "I'm sorry, Cece."

"I have been more than generous in allowing you to sort out your affairs, Remy," Sinister continued. "If we could continue..."

Gambit sighed. "Go," he told her.

Cecelia was too infuriated to be afraid. "Where are we going?" she asked through gritted teeth. "What are we doing?"

"Nothing you want any part in," Gambit told her.

Because of her shields, she didn't feel the sting of the slap she delivered, but it was hard enough to turn Gambit's head to the side. He stared at the tunnel wall for a moment, bewildered. She heard a strange rasping sound. Sinister was laughing. It set her teeth on edge.

"Lead on," Sinister told Gambit.

Gambit looked at Cecelia with resignation, then turned and walked on into the darkness. Sinister walked patiently behind him. Cecelia hung back for a moment, letting Sinister get a few paces ahead, then followed as well. Gambit seemed to know where he was going. He paused only a moment at each turning before moving on. Cecelia found herself lost. Even if she wanted to turn back now, she would not be able to find her way. At last they came to a sealed portion of tunnel. A huge circular door like that of a bank vault stood closed before them.

Gambit glanced sidelong at Sinister. "Anyone inside?" he asked.

"I sense no one," Sinister answered.

Gambit proceeded to the door and removed a piece of electronic gadgetry from inside his coat. There was an electronic lock; a scanner secured the door. Gambit removed the face plate and hooked his gadget to the lock. In a matter of moments, the scanner beeped and the bolt sealing the door opened with a clank. Gambit pulled open the door and it swung forward on its hinges.

The trio slipped through the door and into the chamber beyond. It was dimly lit. They were facing a wall of tanks, like aquariums at a fish store. They glowed with a pale pink light. The wall stretched up several feet, to their left and to the right. The way to the right was cast into shadow, there was a corridor there.

"What is this?" Cecelia asked, bewildered.

"Incubators," Sinister responded, his expression dark. "Wombs. A misappropriation of my work."

Cecelia cringed.

"Someone has been busy," Remy said with a cold smile.

"This technology was stolen. It belongs to me," Sinister said.

Gambit's eyes flashed with anger. "This goes against God," he said. "It's an abomination."

"This was the foundation of your existence," Sinister answered.

Gambit's expression was one of disgust. He walked to the wall and peered into each cubicle, then walked along the wall towards the corridor. Sinister and Cecelia followed. Gambit turned to the left. The corridor stretched ahead, lit at intervals by the soft pink light. Cecelia saw then they were looking down an aisle, and the rows of cubicles continued into the distance, looking much like library shelving. But instead of books, there were more soft glowing wombs. Gambit swiftly moved from one aisle the the next, peering down the length of each.

"If it is the child you seek, it is much too late," Sinister said to Gambit.

Gambit halted, and turned to stare at Sinister. "Is she dead then, for certain?"

Sinister tilted his head slightly. "Perhaps. But gestation is expedited with this process. If McCoy has made use of this technology to give the child life, then she would likely have reached full development by now."

"What-?" Cecelia said suddenly. "What child? What is going on?"

"This process was intended for the study of mutant development," Sinister told her. "You may want to offer your congratulations to Remy. On becoming a father."

Cecelia felt a pulse of fear root her to the floor. She gasped.

"There's a chance she's alive?" Gambit asked Sinister.

"This changes nothing, Remy," Sinister said. "Our agreement still stands."

"Like hell!" Gambit hissed. "I'd die before I'd turn over a child t'you!"

Sinister moved faster than thought. One moment he was several feet from Gambit, the next he had Gambit by the throat, thrown up against the wall of cubicles. Cecelia could hear Gambit's gasp, then the choking gag that followed.

"Believe me when I tell you it would grieve me to fulfill your wish for death, Remy," Sinister said calmly as he held Gambit with no visible effort. "After I have worked so very hard to keep you alive. Restored you to yourself after Apocalypse dared to tamper with my work."

Gambit's heel struck one of the cubicles as he struggled, cracking the glass.

"Stop!" Cecelia cried.

"I did warn you what would happen if you defied me. Still, your death does not have to be a complete waste," Sinister continued, then slowly turned his head to look at Cecelia. "What do you think, Doctor Reyes? He could still be of some use. A curious amalgamation of science and magic. Nature versus nurture. Tell me, Cecelia, do you believe his state of mind to be a product of some hereditary flaw...is it in his genes? Or perhaps it is due to the nature of Remy's mutant powers themselves? On the other hand, it may be some past trauma, as Xavier believes, that has made him this way. Surely there is something driving him to persevere, even as his own mind has him convinced to destroy himself. Is it a physical instinct to survive, or a delusion of faith?"

Cecelia had her hands pressed to her face, frozen with fear. "Stop, please! You're killing him!" Gambit's mouth gaped for air, his hands clawed at the fingers wrapped around his throat. His struggles were becoming weaker.

Sinister released Gambit and he fell to the ground, coughing and sucking in lungfuls of air. "An interesting study," Sinister said, looking at Gambit as he lay face down on the floor. "You can assist me in taking him apart piece by piece. I could use an extra set of hands."

"No!" Cecelia cried, horrified.

"No?" Sinister mused. "Perhaps some other way to repay me then?" He began to move away, as if he were strolling through the park.

Cecelia dashed to Gambit's side. She grasped his arm and shoulder. "We have to get out of here!" she hissed at him.

Gambit shook his head from side to side. "Can't," he rasped. "Can't leave her t'_them_..."

"Don't throw your life away!" she responded, tears in her eyes. "You're not being noble, you're not a hero!"

"Don't I know that?" Gambit said with a hoarse gasp.

"You can't just-sacrifice-yourself. Don't you know what a terrible burden that is on the people who have to go on living without you?" Cecelia said.

Gambit looked into her eyes. "I wish I could see things your way," he said quietly.

"Please, Remy," Cecelia begged. "Please let's go get help. You don't have to do this alone."

He stood slowly. His hand moved out to gain support from the wall, but then he snatched it back not wanting to touch the incubators. "I'm not alone," he told her finally. He then followed after Sinister.

Cecelia wanted to scream her frustration. Instead she followed, arms stiff to her sides. She passed row after row of empty incubators until they at last came to an open centralized area. In the center of the space was an exam table. Upon it lay what appeared to be a staff. To the right was a raised dais with a short set of stairs leading to a computer console with three monitors. Sinister began to move to the computers. Gambit moved to the table and touched the staff.

Sinister turned his head slightly. "Look with your eyes, not with your hands," he mockingly scolded before proceeding up to the dais.

From somewhere in the surrounding darkness came a high pitched cry. Cecelia at first believed it was a cat, but then recognized it for what it was: the cry of an infant. Cecelia froze, as did Sinister. Gambit's hand wrapped around the staff.

The three monitors flickered to life. On each screen was a face that was very familiar to Cecelia: Hank McCoy. Only it wasn't Hank at all, but a twisted and terrifying version of him.

"You choose to hide behind a camera," Sinister said to the screens. "Very well for you, but I will see that your bastardization of my work ends now."

Gambit now held the staff in his hands. He glanced at Cecelia and gave her a strange smile. He twisted the staff and from the end a barbed point emerged. The other end of the spear was tethered to a cable, which hung down from somewhere up in the ceiling.

"The camera can only show so much," came the Dark Beast's voice; it did not echo from the computers but from somewhere behind them. "I wanted to see this in person."

Sinister and Cecelia turned to search for the source of the voice. As Sinister turned, Gambit struck with one smooth movement to spear Sinister in the chest. Sinister looked at the spear protruding from his chest, then back to Gambit who had hastily stepped away. Sinister's expression was almost bemused.

"Do you think this-," he began, then paused. A strange change began to occur that was difficult to comprehend at first. Sinister's expression began to soften and the tone of his musculature began to weaken. When he held out his arm, his hand seemed to droop in a disturbingly boneless way. He appeared to be melting.

Behind them, a door opened. Cecelia whirled to see the Dark Beast striding through the opening. He was holding a small bundle in his arms. It moved and gave a mewling cry. "Sinister, before you find yourself incapable of thought, allow me share just what our friend here has done to you."

The Dark Beast moved deeper into the room as Sinister struggled to move forward. "It was brought to my attention that you didn't always possess the ability to control your body at a cellular level," he said. "That you appropriated this ability from the mutant known as Courier, a friend of Gambit's. And that you were able to reduce the man to a melted puddle of genetic material with an overdose of muscle relaxants."

Cecelia did not know where to move. She was trapped between the melting form of Sinister and the heinous version of a man she loved. Her eyes were glued to the bundle in the Dark Beast's arms. She knew she had to get to it somehow, but was too frightened to move any closer to him. Sinister was slowly slogging forward, but his limbs were not complying. He opened his mouth, and half of his face sloughed off to melt into his chest.

"I've coupled the drugs, so graciously provided by your young man here, with an electrical current to keep you this way," the Dark Beast said, casually waving one large clawed hand at Sinister. "But I'll see your remains are put to good use. We'll have you divvied up amongst these incubators so you can continue to help me with my research. Really, you're such an inspiration to me."

Sinister was now spreading out across the floor. Gambit had backed away. Cecelia could hear the snap and click of the electric current flowing from the spear.

"Good work," the Dark Beast told Gambit. "You had me worried with that little stunt on the river, but it seems you're pretty resilient."

"I taught myself how to swim," Gambit replied in his damaged voice.

The Dark Beast then turned to Cecelia. "And you've brought along a guest. What a delightful surprise."

Cecelia backed up against the bank of cubicles. They were warm against her back.

"You won't hurt Doctor Cece," Gambit told the Dark Beast. "I brought you Sinister. Now give me what you took."

Dark Beast took on a look of mock surprise. "Oh, no," he said. "I agreed to help _you_. To help you with your purpose. It is you who owes _me_. And though the Rem-girl escaped, Gambit would certainly hate for anything to happen to Doctor Reyes."

Cecelia had her eyes on the baby. The Dark Beast looked at Cecelia. "Perhaps you'd like to hold her? Such a lovely little girl. She looks a lot like the mother. Well, before the bitch forced me to take drastic action."

Mechanically, Cecelia moved forward. She held out her arms for the child. The Dark Beast smiled as she approached.

"Remy says...," Gambit began with an impatient sigh. "Remy says there is no mercy for the unrepentant. You should feel bad for what you've done."

The Dark Beast laughed. "You silly child," he said. Cecelia was now within arm's length of the Dark Beast. He completely filled her vision. She could now see the baby's face and her eyes were closed.

"Doctor Cece," Gambit said. "Move away. I'm going to send him home."

Cecelia risked a glance at Gambit. Why was he speaking so strangely? His appearance had seemed to shift as well. He was almost luminescent. "The baby-," she whispered.

The Dark Beast slowly reached out to grasp Cecelia by the shoulder, and she instinctively threw up her shields. "Here, Cecelia..." he said, holding out the infant. "Just reach out and take her."

Cecelia looked up into the Dark Beast's face. She suddenly spotted a flicker of motion from behind his shoulder. Her eyes grew wide for a moment and the Dark Beast's expression changed from cruel to confused. Then he too reacted with surprise when the blade sunk into the side of his throat.

Marrow's thin arm encircled the Dark Beast's neck. With her other arm, she drew back the blade sending a spray of blood from his throat. She plunged the blade in a second time. The Dark Beast's hand came up to tear Marrow's arm from his neck. His other arm went slack and the infant began to slip from his grip. Cecelia bolted forward, grasped the cloths swaddling the child and then clutched the now screaming infant to her chest. Her shields reacted when the Dark Beast fell forward onto her. Blood ran in rivulets and then smeared down the outside of her shields as the Dark Beast slid aside and crumpled to the floor, gagging and choking on blood. Marrow still clung to his back, her expression determined and furious. Cecelia reached out and grasped Marrow's arm, then pulled her into the shelter of her shield.

Gambit was still standing, watching the action progress with a look of annoyance on his features. "See what happens," he told the Dark Beast's writhing form. "You have reaped what you've sown. Remy also says: karma's a bitch. But that's a swear." Gambit held out his hand and Cecelia ducked her head as the light became intensely bright. There was a sharp tearing sound and then suddenly the light vanished, along with the Dark Beast.

Gambit looked at Cecelia. "He was wrong-feeling. I sent him back where he belongs."

"Remy!" Cecelia cried out a warning.

Behind Gambit, the spreading mass that once was Sinister had crept silently outward. All that remained of his form was a dwindling lump that once was his torso. Tendrils of putty-colored flesh reached out blindly. One had snaked its way around Gambit's ankle, then took a firmer hold.

Gambit suddenly jerked, his back arching and his eyes going wide. He gave a short sharp cry before he seemed to explode with light. Cecelia's shield was bombarded with blazing hot concussions of charged air. She screamed. The cubicles began to burst, spraying gelatinous liquid across the floor. The explosions were deafening, but Cecelia, Marrow and the wailing baby were protected from the blasts. Gambit appeared to be frozen, his body a rigid arc as wave upon wave of energy flowed through him.

"The cable," Marrow said, pointing. "Cut the power!"

Cecelia could see the tether dancing with live electricity. How could she reach it? She couldn't withdraw her shields even if she wanted to. The impacts against her shields were agonizing.

"Hold her," Cecelia gasped, passing the baby to Marrow. Marrow looked terrified for a moment then gingerly took the child.

Cecelia was panting. Sweat ran down her face. She forced her shields to assume a shape. She reached out with them, trying to pinch the electrical wire. It was like trying to pick up a thread wearing an oven mitt. She moaned with the effort. It seemed like she had it within her grasp. She pulled and with a crackle of hot sparks, the wire broke free. Suddenly, the waves of energy stopped. Gambit dropped to the ground.

Cecelia fell to her knees. Her head was pounding. She began to crawl forward towards where Gambit lay. His body occasionally spasmed, and another burst of charged air would ignite. Behind him, the mass that was Sinister began to slowly coalesce. He was beginning to reform himself. Cecelia scrambled forward, but it was too late. Sinister rose slowly, Gambit's struggling form in his grasp.

"You have outlived your usefulness," Sinister told Gambit.

Gambit's eyes opened and he smiled winsomely. "Sending...me...home?" he asked weakly.

Cecelia couldn't see the psychic bolt that killed Gambit. She heard him gasp. Then his body went limp and his head fell back. His eyes were black and lifeless. Cecelia heard herself scream. Almost tenderly, Sinister lifted Gambit in his arms and set him onto the nearby table. After arranging Gambit's slack limbs, he slowly turned to Cecelia and Marrow. Cecelia crab-walked backwards, bringing herself up against Marrow. The baby was between them.

"Give me the infant," Sinister said. "And consider your debt repaid."

"No," Cecelia sobbed. "Never!" She would smother the infant first. It would be better than handing her over to this monster.

"I can easily extinguish your mind as I have Remy's and take the child," Sinister told her, reading her thoughts.

Cecelia doubted she could live with herself if she handed the baby over to Sinister.

"I am giving you an opportunity, Doctor Reyes," Sinister continued. "Accept this offer."

_No_, Cecelia thought. _If I do, he will own me...my very soul itself._ She pushed back with her shields and expanded them outwards. Sinister came up against them. Cecelia could feel his insidious presence slide into her mind. Then suddenly her shields were gone, snapped off like a switch leaving her weak and vulnerable. Marrow's arm wrapped across Cecelia's chest protectively, the black blade clenched in her fist. Cecelia could feel the scrape of Marrow's broken bones against her skin. The whimpering child was held between Marrow's chest and Cecelia's back. As Sinister approached, Cecelia closed her eyes and turned her head away.

* * *

><p><em>Next time: The Suicide King.<em>


	45. Cure For Pain

_Where is the ritual?  
>And tell me where, where is the taste?<br>Where is the sacrifice?  
>And tell me where where is the faith?<br>Someday there'll be a cure for pain  
>That's the day I throw my drugs away<br>When they find a cure for pain  
>Where is the cave<br>Where the wise woman went?  
>And tell me where<br>Where's all that money that I spent?  
>I propose a toast to my self control<br>You see it crawling helpless on the floor  
>Someday there'll be a cure for pain<br>That's the day I throw my drugs away  
><em>-Cure for Pain, Morphine

Hank McCoy was holding two tickets in his outstretched hand, rubbing them back and forth between his fingers. Gambit glanced at the tickets then looked up into Hank's blue eyes. Gambit was trying to figure out what the man's angle was; what the ulterior motive could be for this particular offering. Hank didn't seem to be the manipulative type, but Gambit had been wrong about people before. Though now that he and Hank were living in such close quarters, along with about twenty other people, this might be some sort of ice breaker.

"Forge and I have just reached a pivotal point in restoring our computer system and I simply cannot step away," Hank told him. "Please, take the tickets. I'd hate for them to go to waste."

Gambit reluctantly reached out and took the tickets from Hank's hand. "Why would you give these to me?" he asked. Looking into Hank's guileless and earnest-looking face, Gambit decided maybe the best approach would be directness.

Hank smiled a toothy grin at him. "You seem to be a man who enjoys music. Perhaps this will help you to broaden your horizons!"

Gambit looked at the tickets. They were for an opera performance: _La Traviata_. Gambit almost opened his mouth to say that he'd seen it performed before, years ago. His father had taken him to Venice when he was twelve. They'd watched the performance together, though Gambit had been far more interested in having his father to himself than the opera. Jean-Luc had sworn Gambit to secrecy. His father didn't want to be seen playing favorites.

But telling Hank that would have given too much away, and Gambit didn't want to share anything of himself. Hank was under the assumption that Gambit was unfamiliar with Verdi and why bother to correct him when Gambit could just perpetuate the belief that he was some uncultured moron. So Gambit grinned and said brightly: "Sounds fancy...some kinda foreign language, _hein_?"

"Italian," Hank replied. "Perhaps you could bring a lady friend?"

_Oh, right_, Gambit thought. _Because I'm also supposed to be some kind of incorrigible rake. Because of the way I talk and I happen to look the way I do._ Gambit said: "If I take some girl to dis fancy show, it's sure to be a real panty-dropper."

Hank opened his mouth for a moment, then closed it. He raised an eyebrow and gave Gambit a sardonic smile. "Well, enjoy yourself, my friend."

Gambit waved the tickets at Hank and turned to leave. "_Arrivederci amico! Grazie!_" he called as he left the room. He could feel Hank staring after him.

Gambit did not have friends, save one. Though if Stormy ever found out just why he'd helped her, why he'd been in the right place at the right time, he doubted she would consider him much of a comrade. He wasn't interested in making friends with these people, the X-Men. Being here was his penance, the price he had to pay for his mistakes. He'd only been a few weeks in this miserable prison where he was now an outcast amongst outcasts. And Stormy had dozens of friends and the trust and respect of those around her. Gambit was little more than a hanger-on, a wastrel who'd hitched his wagon to her star.

It had been fun being Little John to her Robin Hood. It was the first time he'd ever been cast in the role of hero. Whenever he'd played at thief games with the other clan children, he'd always been the villain. Gambit didn't mind so much because at least he'd been included in the game. Heroes were only as heroic as the villains were evil, and Gambit had been a particularly villainous Sheriff of Nottingham. He wondered how long he'd have to stay on with the X-Men before he could be forgiven. Maybe forever. Maybe until he was killed. And wouldn't that be the perfect irony, Gambit playing the hero and getting himself killed by some maniac like the Shadow King. Dying like some sainted martyr. Well he was living a lie, so what a fitting finale that would be.

Gambit kept a low profile while in the city of New York. The place was crawling with costumed crusaders and Kingpin henchmen. It wouldn't do for a Guild thief, even a former Guild thief, to draw the attention of the likes of them. Besides Stormy, Gambit only knew one other person in New York. Though the last time he went to see her, she'd kicked him so hard she'd cracked one of his ribs. Every encounter with her always ended the same way, with him begging for her to return to her family, to go back to Sarah who needed her. Gambit knew Callisto wasn't so bad; she had to have a heart somewhere. He wished he could convince her to find it again. Gambit would try a different tack with Callisto tonight. Maybe a little flirtation, to go along with his newfound heroic profession. She seemed like the type who appreciated irony. Gambit was almost certain he'd get kicked again.

"I brung you a present," he told her, shifting so his hip leaned against the open door of her bedroom. He'd let himself in to her apartment. Since joining the X-Men, Gambit had kept tabs on Callisto's whereabouts. He knew she had been on Muir Island for awhile, only to return to New York to live a life above-ground now that she had a pretty face, given to her courtesy of the Morlock Masque.

Callisto was laying on her back in her bed, a book in front of her face. When she lowered the novel, he could see she was scowling. She was always scowling; it spoiled her features. Gambit showed her the tickets. "What say you and I go out on de town?" he told her. "The theater. It's dark there. I know how much you like the dark."

She eyeballed him warily. Gambit shifted again and produced a bottle of Chianti from behind his back. "To go along wit' the overall theme of de night." He clunked the bottle onto her nightstand and sat on the edge of her bed.

"And a trinket," Gambit held his fist before her face and opened his hand. A chain dropped out and on the end was a ring. It was a man's ring. Instead of a stone was a blue glass eye. "From Italy. Somethin' I picked up. It's supposed t'ward off de evil eye. And I figured you could an extra good eye to counteract my two evil ones." He closed one eye at her, then the other. She stared up at him, her face impassive.

"Do you mock me?" she asked dangerously.

"I thought to woo you...Well, how'm I doin'?" he asked, showing her the tickets again.

To his utter surprise she accepted his offer. They went to the theater together. Gambit's hopes rose along with the curtains. Maybe he could win her over; he'd cracked tough nuts like her before. Maybe he could convince her to rejoin the Morlocks and take over the leadership from that Masque person, so he could see Sarah again. During the performance he watched her face. In the soft glow of the theater lights, her features softened. She turned the ring on her thumb around and around. He thought she might have smiled.

"Nothin' like a case of consumption to mess up your love life," Gambit said as they left the theater. "What did you think of de performance?"

She glanced up at him. "It was beautiful. Beautiful and sad."

The words made Gambit's heart ache. To Sarah, everything had been beautiful. It was her favorite word. How could Callisto have just left her behind? "Shall I escort you home,_ mia bella_?"

Callisto walked alongside him for several paces before answering. "No," she said finally. "Take me someplace."

"Someplace where?" Gambit asked as they separated from the crowd of theater-goers. Gambit had the sudden hope that she might suggest they instead revisit the tunnels beneath Manhattan.

"Someplace quiet," she said.

Gambit didn't know many places in the city. There was a Guild safe house nearby, so he took her there. It wasn't much to look at, but neither were the Morlock tunnels, her former home. Gambit hesitated outside the door but his senses told him there were no Guild thieves nearby. He opened the door and led Callisto inside. "Make yourself comfy," he told her and moved to the kitchen. "Somethin' t'drink?"

Callisto shrugged a shoulder which Gambit took to be an affirmative response. There wasn't much in the cabinets, but he was good at making do with little. Callisto sat in the armchair beside the small sofa. Remy poured a drink over ice in a highball glass and walked it over to her.

"What is this?" she asked, taking the glass.

"Gin and some other stuff," he said with a smile. He sat on the sofa with his own glass.

"I hate gin," she told him.

He gave her a sidelong look. "You haven't tried it yet," he said.

Reluctantly, she smelled the drink and grimaced. She sipped.

"Well?" he asked.

She shifted in her chair, pulling one leg underneath her thigh. "I suppose it isn't horrible," she said. "And so you are some kind of drink-making magician, to make gin palatable."

"I might have learned to make a few cocktails," Gambit said, drawing a long sip from his glass and swallowing. He wished she would drink more, it might make her loosen up. Maybe he could ask to see Sarah again once she'd finished it. Maybe he wouldn't get kicked.

"I was involved with an X-Man once," she told him. "Romantically."

Gambit glanced over at her. "Not the short feral one, I hope. That one's got it out for me."

Callisto smiled a grim smile. "No, he was a painter," she answered. She took a sip from her glass. "They can be fickle."

"Painters?" Gambit asked. "Or just men in general?"

Callisto looked at him, her expression serious. "The X-Men. Once you are out of sight, you are out of mind."

Gambit chewed on this comment. He thought briefly of Stormy, who he had asked to rejoin him on the road, only to meet with her refusal. She had said very little to him in the past few weeks. He squelched this uncharitable line of thought immediately. She didn't need to show him any loyalty or friendship. She didn't owe him anything.

"Not like you," Callisto continued. "Your heart is a constant. Guard it well."

This angered Gambit. "Who are you to judge them? You've abandoned your family. You left de tunnels...left Sarah behind in de dark."

"I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand," she told him.

"What? What do you mean: _someone like me_? A thief? A Marauder? Not an X-Man, surely."

"No...one of the beautiful ones. You have always had this gift, this beauty. You never had to live in the darkness," Callisto said.

Gambit barked a bitter laugh. "Yes, I'm quite gifted. But my Tante Mattie always tole me: ugly is as ugly does. And there ain't nothin' uglier than sin. I wonder why did you sent me t'them, The X-Men? If you knew they were so faithless?"

"Who else would you have gone to?" Callisto asked.

Gambit sat in silence. He took another swallow, finishing the drink. He didn't like the answer that surfaced in his mind.

"Are you an imbecile?" Callisto said.

Gambit felt a stab of fury, then the spin of confusion. Denial was next. "So you think I'm stupid, do you? Well, that's nothing I'm not used to."

"You can't return to him," she said.

"There has to be some explanation!" he cried. "There must have been some _mistake_."

"No mistake, Remy. That man is ugly like you say, as sin," Callisto said. "You were a fool to have trusted him in the first place. No one will come along with an offer of help and expect nothing in return."

Gambit slouched back into the couch. He wished he didn't feel so confused. He didn't know how he could have been so wrong about Essex, or Sinister as the X-Men named him. "You're right. I've learned de hard way. And now my only chance is Xavier, wherever he is. I wonder what it will cost me...just t'go on living?"

"You'd risk putting your faith in another?" Callisto said.

Gambit stared blankly into space. "If he knew about me, he would lock me up and throw away de key. But I'm all out of chances," Gambit said. "One, two, three strikes. I'm out."

Callisto unfolded herself from the chair and walked to the sofa. She sat beside him. "The only person you can rely on-is yourself."

Gambit looked at her. "That's de last person I can count on. My heart is a Judas, cheaply bought. My mind plays tricks, makes me believe things that aren't true. Even my body is against me. I can't be left alone wit' myself. And it's a lonely world when no one knows your name."

After a long pause she said: "Audra."

"What?" he asked.

"My name."

Gambit dragged his hand through his hair. "Sounds like a song."

Callisto was silent. She reached over him to turn on the lamp on the side table. "I don't like the dark," she said. Her face was very close to his own. The first time Gambit had seen her she wore a different face, a scarred and battered one. She shunned the light. Her expression had been ugly with the hate she felt for him, but she had wanted nothing more than to protect her family, to hide Sarah away from the cruelty in the world. Now she was ugly in a different way.

"You would hate me if I weren't beautiful. You would not have been seen with me, out on the streets...at the theater," she told him. She brushed the backs of her fingers against his cheek.

"I couldn't hate you if I tried," Gambit told her. How could he hate her? He'd helped destroy her home, seen members of her family killed by the killers he himself had brought together. She wanted to live with the beautiful people, she didn't want to live in darkness. Could he blame her? He'd abandoned his family too and rejected his responsibilities. They were just alike, two beautiful people with ugly selfish hearts.

He put his hands through her silky black hair, holding her firmly as he pressed his mouth to hers. Her teeth found his lower lip and held it for a moment. She pressed herself against the length of his body. It had been so long since he'd been with a woman. There was no one he'd wanted since what had happened in the tunnels. He felt no desire and felt that no one would desire him. Somehow Callisto did, in spite of knowing who he really was. She was the only person in the city who even knew his real name. He mistook it for intimacy.

There was a mirror in the bedroom behind the closet door. He stood her before it and they looked at their reflections. Gambit took her hair in his hand and turned her head to the side, kissing her neck as he stood behind her. Reaching around to her front, he unbuttoned her blouse and slid it from her shoulders, down her firm pale arms, and let it fall to the floor. Taking her wrists he drew her hands up to rest on the back of his head. His hands then trailed down the undersides of her arms and moved to her breasts. When he palmed her breasts in either hand, she arched her back bringing her backside against his groin. His hands slid down her body to her waist. Gambit unfastened her trousers and let them fall to the floor in a silken puddle at her feet leaving her in nothing but her panties and dark stockings, so pretty against her pale skin. He shrugged off his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt and dropped them both the floor. Callisto turned and pulled up his undershirt and as he raised his arms. She pulled it over his head. She ran her hands over his bare chest, the moved to his pants. Now undressed, he pulled her against himself roughly. Gambit moved her backward, pressed her against the wall and parted her legs. He pushed himself into her as she gasped, her neck arching. He gripped her by the backs of her thighs and held her still to feel the force of his body against hers. He watched her reaction in the mirror. From her expression he couldn't tell if he was causing her pleasure or pain; when she cried out and her nails dragged down his back he knew it was some of both.

* * *

><p>Gambit was staring into his locker with a look of dismay. Inside hung his new practice uniform that all the other X-Men wore. Blue and gold and foolish as hell. Well, if he were going to play the fool, he might as well don the motley. He would have preferred his usual work attire, the strange mix of Guild and S.H.I. . and mercenary gear he'd put together. His old uniform didn't make any sense, but nothing else in his life did either. Even if he was going to wear this ridiculous X-Man getup, he'd be damned if he was going without his coat. He sat on the locker room bench and pulled off his boots, then stood and pulled off his shirt.<p>

There were two other X-Men in the men's locker room. Both Archangel and Cannonball were in the showers, having just finished a Danger Room session. From what little Gambit had paid attention to during some boring meeting, he'd learned they were still in the preliminary phases of determining an action plan, picking out teams. Gambit was certain to be last picked.

"_What the hell am I doing here...? I don't belong here..._" he sang quietly. He'd have to ask that teenage girl what that depressing music was she listened to, Julie or Joobie or whatever her name was. Gambit no longer bothered with names. It made it easier not to care about these people if he didn't try to get to know them. He heard the showers cut off. Gambit picked up his new uniform and stared at it. And he used to think the Guild formal wear was stupid, this was something else entirely.

_ A red belt with an X on it...You've got to be freaking kidding me,_ he thought.

He was so caught up in his ruminations he didn't realize that Cannonball was speaking to him.

"Hey! Gambit! What happened to you?" Cannonball exclaimed.

Gambit blinked away the vision of blue and gold from his eyes to look up at Cannonball, who was just opening his locker. His sparring partner Archangel was nearby. For the sake of his own sanity, Gambit pretended Archangel didn't exist.

"What...?" Gambit asked.

"Your back is scratched to heck!" Cannonball said. "Did you get in a fight with a bobcat?"

Gambit smirked at him. "No," he replied. "A cougar. By de way, your mama wanted me t'tell you she said 'hi'."

"Wha-Hey!" Cannonball said indignantly, as he pulled a bottle of aerosol body spray from his locker.

Archangel said: "Ouch. Burn."

Gambit pulled on his uniform. _Boots and gloves too? Deliver me from this evil..._

"How dare you talk about my momma!"

"Relax, Sam. From the looks of Gambit's back, she was able to get away," Archangel said, toweling his hair.

_La, la, la...You are not here,_ Gambit thought._ I did not see you mutilated and harpooned to a tunnel wall._

"Gee, Warren, that's a load off mah mind," Cannonball said dryly and set his deodorant down onto the bench.

Gambit hadn't seen Callisto since the night he'd taken her to the opera, and he hoped to never again. Everything about being with her was wrong and painful. He felt even more disgusted with himself than usual. He thought he should be accustomed to feeling used by now. Just the thought of being touched again sickened him. Gambit looked at his reflection in the mirror inside his locker door. He didn't recognize himself.

His locker door suddenly slammed shut. Wolverine was standing behind it, his hand on the door. Why did these people continue to hassle him? Couldn't they tell he didn't want to be bothered? Why wouldn't they just leave him alone?

"I'm less concerned about whatever kinky shit it is you're into," Wolverine said, "and more interested in what business you have crawlin' around in the Morlock tunnels."

Gambit frowned at him. "Don't know what you're talkin' about, _homme_," he said. _Mind your own fucking business_, is what he thought. He'd made an attempt to find Sarah on his own and instead found the place where the Morlocks had buried their dead. Gambit had left some dandelions there, hoping that if Sarah went to visit her mother's grave, she might find them. He couldn't risk being spotted by the Morlocks, they seemed a bit crazed under Masque's leadership.

Wolverine touched his finger to the side of his nose. "My senses don't lie," he said.

Gambit casually reached over and picked up Cannonball's deodorant and pretended to inspect the label. "Must be your mind," he said. "Man your age, I hear it's de first thing t'go..." He moved to set down the canister but fumbled it, depressing the nozzle and spraying Wolverine full in the face.

Archangel gaped at Gambit as Wolverine began a series of gagging coughs and explosive sneezes.

"Oh...whoops," Gambit said. "Sorry."

"Gonna-ack! Kill! _Ah-choo_!" Wolverine gasped. "Teach you-aughhaah!"

"Do you have a death wish or something?" Cannonball exclaimed.

Gambit strode past Wolverine and down the length of the locker room. "If I tole you what I wished for, it'd never come true," he said and slipped through the locker room door.

He made his way to the observation booth which overlooked the Danger Room. There was a center console for programming different battle scenarios. Compared to the Celestial technology he'd picked up, this Shi'ar stuff was child's play. He was ready for a little wish fulfillment. Here's the scenario: a newly angered Wolverine, a smarmy wanna-be hero, a dangerous _tête-à-tête_. Should it come as a surprise that some upstart rookie waltzes in and gets his ass handed to him in the Danger Room? Wolverine could prove he was the best at whatever it was that he did, and Gambit could find a way to get out of this stupid uniform. A few puncture holes would only be an improvement. It would look like an accident. Then he could be done with this charade. He didn't need a hero's death; he could die as he'd lived-stupidly. He didn't need anyone to teach him any more lessons.

Gambit learned from the Guild that living within an insular world did not protect you. That your family was not a shield of defense, but a bubble about to burst. Without their support and the crutch of conformity, you had no legs to stand on. You were set up to fail from the start, so you had no choice at all but to return to the bubble or die. Then they could hold you up as an example, a warning to others: _This could be you! _

Gambit learned from S.H.I.E.L.D. that you had to shut away your emotions and everything that made you human. Because the horrible things people did to one another would eventually seep into your soul if you didn't. It was best to keep your head down, become a mindless automaton, follow orders and don't ask questions. Soldier on until the fighting was done, and maybe there'd be a shred of humanity and sanity left over.

From Candra Gambit learned that you were only as good as you were useful. That when things become difficult or complicated, people would abandon you.

Sinister had taught him the hardest lesson of all. He'd proven everything that Tante Mattie had taught him was fallacy. That faith was a delusion to get you through another day. That hope was for fools and dreamers who couldn't bear to recognize their own reality. Charity was not rewarded; people would take and take and take what you offered and still ask for more...your mind, your heart, your soul and you'd be left with nothing. You were left to walk around in an empty shell with only just the semblance of being alive. On top of that, Sinister had lied about the cure. Gambit still saw the world as all wrong. If he had been cured, then he wouldn't be having these thoughts. He wouldn't be watching himself do these things as if looking at a reflection in a distorted mirror.

What he really wanted to learn was the reason _why? _

_ Why did all of you send me away? _he wanted to know, and he hated himself for it. _Jean-Luc...Greycrow...Essex. _They'd all sent him on to his doom.

But there would be no answers now. Sinister was dead; killed by Cyclops. He'd destroyed the X-Men's home and tried to take Cyclops' infant son. What could Sinister have wanted with a little baby, Gambit didn't know. Maybe there were questions that were best left unanswered.

The lesson from Callisto was that only the surface, the veneer, mattered. It covered up the ugly, and no one wanted to see the truth beneath. Callisto had been wrong about Stormy though. She was a leader, but not Gambit's. Stormy wanted seasoned, trusted friends to stand beside her. Gambit didn't see how he could fit in. The other man, Cable, was some kind of warrior who wanted hard-hitting soldiers. Gambit didn't want to be a soldier or a weapon. And without their mentor Xavier to guide them, these X-Men fought like cats and dogs. Where was Xavier? Did he give up on his followers like Callisto had? Did he shun his responsibility as Gambit did?

If X, then Y.

_If Xavier is gone...then..._

_ If Xavier is gone._

_ Then._

_ Then it's all over, there are no more chances._

Gambit sat before the console and put his hands to either side of his head. Could he really do it? Was there any one person left he could talk to or trust? Someone that he wouldn't have to explain himself to, who wouldn't judge or revile him?

Gambit had a phone now. The man Forge had given it to him. When Gambit told Forge he didn't have a phone, Forge had looked at him as if he'd been speaking in tongues. Gambit looked at the phone now and smoothed his thumb over the buttons. He only knew one phone number. He wondered if he could make himself dial it.

The thing that terrified him the most was the possibility that no one would answer. What if no one was there to answer his call? He imagined a phone somewhere in an empty room, ringing into the silence on and on...and there was no one on the other end of the line. He swallowed nervously. His thoughts were spinning and his body felt strangely numb. As if possessed, he watched himself dial the number. Gambit held the phone in his hand heard the phone ring. He almost ended the call then, but a voice spoke: The Voice.

"Good afternoon, LeBeau residence," he heard The Voice say. Gambit quickly put the phone to his ear. "Pierce speaking. How may I help you?"

Gambit opened his mouth but no words came out.

"Hello?" The Voice persisted.

"Put Henri on de phone," Gambit said, his words coming out in a rush.

There was a pause. "Remy?" Pierce said. It felt so strange to hear someone say his name. Gambit looked around the room nervously, but he was alone.

"Is Henri there?" Remy asked again.

"Remy...Your father-," Pierce said.

"I didn't ask for him," Remy snapped.

"A moment," Pierce said and then there was silence. Remy held his breath.

"Remy?" Henri's voice asked.

He let out his breath in a sudden burst of relief. He felt light-headed.

"Remy, where are you?" Henri asked.

It was such a good feeling, knowing Henri was there. He felt as if he'd been pulled back from the edge, back to reality. "If I tole you, it'd spoil de chase," Remy told him.

Henri sighed. "I'm just glad t'know you're okay. Last you were here, you seemed a little keyed up. You and dat little weather witch left a big mess."

Remy let himself smile. "Give Pierce somethin' t'clean up then."

"I hope you're looking after yourself," Henri said.

"I thought that was your job?" Remy asked.

"Remy," Henri began. He was silent a moment. "I wish I could tell you I'd always be there, but I can't. I know hearing that hurts you. But I have t'live my own life too."

Remy stared out into the empty Danger Room. Even though what remained of the X-Men's home was full to capacity with people, Remy felt terribly alone.

"I want you to be able to stand on your own two feet. T'make your own choices," Henri continued.

"What about de Guild?" Remy asked quietly. "Don't you want me back?"

"I want what's best for you. I want you to decide what you want. And no matter what you choose t'do, I will support you. Please know that. I know you. I know what you're capable of. I can only push you so far. You have t'carry yourself de rest of de way."

Remy felt he'd made so many bad choices and decisions all ready. How could Henri ask him to rely on himself when everything he'd done so far had been a failure?

"Don't you remember what father taught you? How t'do right, even if when it's difficult. T'make hard de decisions other people aren't strong enough t'make," Henri said. "And that Tante Mattie taught you...t'keep faith. That it'll hold you up when times are bad, and remind you t'be thankful for the times that are good."

"I don't know what t'do, Henri," Remy said.

"I want you t'do your best. Now what d'you want for yourself?"

"I...want t'try. Again," Remy finished. He felt as if he'd just run a marathon. "Henri...?"

"Enh?"

"Tell me somethin'...normal," Remy asked.

Henri gave a short laugh. "What's your definition of normal, Remy?"

"I dunno, like _life_ normal."

"Hm," Henri began. "Well...Mercy made up a roast de other night. Like a big fancy meal."

"Any good?" Remy asked.

"You know it always is," Henri answered.

"Was it just de two of you?"

"Yes...but it was much too much for just two," Henri said. "I think Mercy's tryin' t'tell me something."

"Don't she usually come right out and say what it is she's thinkin'?" Remy asked. "And loudly?"

"Usually. But for once she's not entirely sure what she wants. She's moved up in de ranks, Remy. Got high-profile clients now."

"Do tell," Remy said.

"I shouldn't say, but one of 'em might've been Tony Stark."

"_Oh la la_," Remy said sassily. "What'd he want?"

"Well, other than some piece of war machinery that got stole a few years back...he got it into his head he wanted my wife."

"What!"

"He was drunk. She hit 'im over de head wit' a wine bottle. It's fine. De wine bottle I mean," Henri said.

"And Mercy?"

"Annoyed. She's tryin' t'convince herself she can have it all. Be a Guild thief and a woman, but not get de kind of treatment she got from Mr. Stark. T'be taken seriously and not judged by her looks alone."

"I'll beat his ass," Remy said.

"Now, Remy," Henri warned. "Don't go gettin' messed up wit' dese super-hero types."

"Don't have t'tell me twice..."

"Mercy's got de Guild thief part down," Henri continued. "Now I think she wants t'master motherhood."

"Really? Henri, that's great!" Remy suddenly felt more hopeful than he had in ages.

"You excited?" Henri asked, amused.

"Of course! Every chile needs at least one crazy uncle," Remy said. "Where would I be wit'out mine?"

"Heh...well, I don't know about crazy. Odd-definitely."

"I'm gonna spoil dis kid rotten!"

"You'd know from spoiled rotten," Henri said dryly.

"I ain't spoiled!" Remy responded heatedly.

"You got away wit' more crazy things than I ever did, Remy, and you know it. What are you up to now?"

Remy had the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder, his hands were flying over the keyboard in front of him. "Playin' a game," he said. "Tryin' out for de team."

"You joinin' de Major Leagues?" Henri asked.

"Hah...yeah. Batter up," Remy said while programming in a Danger Room sequence.

"Swing for de fences, Remy," Henri said.

"Will do, coach."

Remy could hear someone coming down the hall. From the sound of stomping feet, it was probably that Julie girl on a tear about something. Remy disconnected the call.

"Who are you talking to?" Jubilee said as she entered the room.

"It's just me and my shadow," Remy told her. "How's tricks, Julie?"

Jubilee rolled her eyes. "For the last time, _Gumbo_, it's Joo-Buh-_Lee_."

Remy leaned back in the chair. "You here t'watch me kick your old man's keester?"

"You think you can take him?" she asked contemptuously. "_Puh_-leese."

"Well..." Remy began. "I certainly can't outfight him.

"You got that right," Jubilee said and crossed her arms.

"And I can't outfox him...find me a hidey hole and go t'ground," Remy added.

"Nope."

"And I certainly can't outrun him..."

"Yeah-you're totally hosed."

"But I still have one more ace up my sleeve," Remy said amicably. "One more weapon in de thief arsenal."

"What's that? Crying and begging for mercy?"

Remy laughed. "I don't want t'ruin de surprise, p'tite. Now you'd best keep it quiet up here. I wouldn't want you t'cause a _distraction_."

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: This is a retelling of Uncanny X-Men #273. Gambit wins the Danger Room battle by distracting Wolverine by programming in the appearance of Lady Deathstrike and smacking Wolvie around with his bo staff.<em>

_Next time: Rogue's math equation...Solve for X._


	46. Where Is My Mind

_With your feet in the air and your head on the ground  
>Try this trick and spin it, yeah<br>Your head will collapse  
>But there's nothing in it<br>And you'll ask yourself  
>Where is my mind?<br>Way out in the water  
>See it swimmin'<br>I was swimmin' in the Caribbean  
>Animals were hiding behind the rocks<br>Except the little fish  
>But they told me, he swears<br>Tryin' to talk to me, coy koi.  
>Where is my mind?<em>  
>-Where Is My Mind, The Pixies<p>

When Callisto had led them to the place where she had left Gambit, the X-Men found the small chamber empty. Wolverine confirmed that Gambit, Marrow, and Cecelia had been there, as well as another...Sinister. The X-Men had to wait for reinforcements to arrive. Then Wolverine picked up the trail and they followed him through the tunnels. They heard explosions. They heard screaming.

Rogue thought that they were too late, at least that is what she believed when she first saw Gambit's body. Then she could see the gentle rise and fall of Gambit's chest as he lay on the table. He was otherwise perfectly still, his expression peaceful. But his eyes were dark and staring blankly at the ceiling; the light inside them extinguished. From the start of this mission Rogue had been clear-minded and decisive. It was easy to make decisions when your emotions were turned off. The instant she spotted Gambit's prone form, instinct and impulsiveness had taken over. She would have bolted to his side and ruined everything they'd planned if Wolverine hadn't taken her arm and stopped her.

The other X-Men were getting into position. Beast tossed Wolverine skyward, where he now hung by his arms from the pipes high above their heads. Beast soon joined him with one powerful leap and then began to make his way hand over hand into the center of the chamber. Frenzy and Iceman had skirted the walls of the chamber and disappeared behind a bank of incubators. Both Shadowcat and Marvel Girl were out of sight. Rogue was bringing up the rear.

From her hiding place behind the computers, Rogue could see Sinister standing over Cecelia and Marrow. Somewhere an infant was wailing. Cecelia had turned her head to the side, her eyes were squeezed shut. Marrow held her tightly with an expression of dread on her face. Both women appeared helpless in the looming presence of Sinister.

Suddenly, Sinister paused. "Your powers should not extend to psychic shielding...," he said speculatively.

Two figures rose from the floor behind Sinister like a pair of phantoms. "Maybe not," Marvel Girl said, "but mine do."

Sinister turned to see Shadowcat and Marvel Girl just behind him. In that instant, Sinister realized he would not be able to attack Shadowcat who held Marvel Girl by the arm, making them both intangible. He would also have to face down another telepath with telekinetic abilities. He must have realized too that where there were two X-Men, more would follow. Sinister turned his attention back to the two most vulnerable mutants, Cecelia and Marrow, and prepared to attack them both. He found himself frozen, literally. His body went rigid, the texture of his flesh took on a strange stone-like appearance as the temperature in the room plummeted. The strange gelatinous fluid on the floor turned into a sheet of ice. Wolverine dropped from above with a growl and his claws raked through Sinister's frozen flesh. Wolverine sprung back, seized Cecelia and heaved her upwards into Beast's waiting arms. She shrieked. Wolverine paused a moment before seizing Marrow as well, who was holding an infant in one thin arm. Then Marrow and the infant were swept upwards to safety. Beast held Marrow in one arm and Cecelia clung to his back as he made his way towards Rogue, swinging by his free hand and both feet. Cecelia wailed in fright.

Wolverine leapt over Sinister's frozen form to land in front of Shadowcat. She grasped his arm just as the wall of incubators began to pitch forward. Frenzy toppled the wall and it landed with a crash on top of Sinister, shattering him into splintered fragments. Shadowcat, Marvel Girl, and Wolverine phased through the flying debris and emerged on top of the fallen wall. Iceman molded himself from the icy floor to join Frenzy as they stood on the debris. Together they regrouped with Marvel Girl, Shadowcat, and Wolverine at the center of the room. They watched warily, waiting for Sinister to reappear.

Rogue ran to the table where Gambit lay. When she reached the table she grasped his arm and called his name, but he remained still and his eyes empty. With the telepathic powers she'd absorbed from Marvel Girl, Rogue reached out to find Gambit's mind.

"You will find nothing," Sinister said from behind her. "But was it ever his mind you valued?"

Rogue grasped Gambit's hand and quickly drew on his powers. She saw Sinister's eyes widen for a moment, right before she picked up a fallen spear and threw it. The spear impaled Sinister in the midsection and nearly passed through him entirely before detonating. Rogue held Gambit's arm and let Shadowcat's intangibility protect them both from the flying debris. With Beast's strength and agility at her disposal she leapt at Sinister, who was reforming himself. He sent a telekinetic energy projectile in her direction, but Rogue phased through it. The pulse of energy smashed into the ceiling above. Rogue blocked the telepathic assault with Marvel Girl's powers and with Frenzy's strength blocked his physical attack. She then grabbed hold of Sinister and wrapped her hand around his jaw. Sinister seized her arm and tossed her aside, but it was too late. She had all ready grabbed a share of his mutant abilities. Rogue hit the floor and rolled to her feet.

"Are you willing to take on all of us, times two?" Rogue asked, then shifted her appearance to assume Sinister's pale skin, dark hair, and red eyes. "Plus yourself? Do the math, Sinister."

Sinister stood and surveyed the other X-Men who had gathered to flank the raised dais where both he and Rogue stood. His eyes fell on Marrow who was cradling the infant in her arms.

"There will come a time when she will want answers," Sinister began, "or need a solution. And I will be there to make her an offer. You can't protect her forever. And I am a patient man...in need of a new...hobby."

Sinister vanished in a flash of bright yellow light.

When Rogue blinked the light from her vision, she saw Callisto emerge from the darkness and take Marrow in her arms. Beast and Cecelia moved to where Gambit lay motionless. Cecelia took his wrist in her hand and Beast leaned over Gambit to check his breathing.

"His vitals are fine," Cecelia said. "But he feels cold."

Marvel Girl spoke: "I can't find him. His mind is-blank."

Rogue slowly walked forward to stand beside Beast. From several feet away came a squall of an unhappy baby.

"Can I hold her?" Shadowcat asked.

Marrow gratefully deposited the baby in Shadowcat's arms. Shadowcat pushed aside the cloths covering the baby's face. "Oh...aren't you cute?" she said softly. "What's your name?"

"Matilde," Iceman said. He put his hand on Shadowcat's shoulder and they both peered at the baby's face. "Pretty eyes. Blue."

"I think most baby's eyes are blue, Bobby," Shadowcat said.

Rogue looked down at Gambit's sightless black eyes. She had to know for herself. Rogue closed her eyes. She slipped inside Gambit's mind easily, not because she had the combined telepathic abilities of both Marvel Girl and Sinister, but because there was no resistance. She found herself surrounded by infinite blackness. She reached out blindly, searching for something, any sign that Gambit might still be alive.

In her fumbling, she found her hands touching a smooth hard surface, a wall. She ran her hands across it and encountered a recess in the wall. Her hands searched and she discovered a knob. She was standing in front of a door. She turned the knob and pushed the door open. Beyond was more of the same empty blackness. Rogue moved down the wall. She found another door only a few feet away from the first. She opened it and found nothing. It was all black, and she felt her mind begin to play tricks on her; making her see light where there was nothing. The next door and the next, each opened into nothingness.

"Remy!" she cried out. The blackness absorbed her cry. She would continue her search, she'd open every door before she would stop. She wouldn't just give up.

She grasped and turned the next doorknob. It turned, but the door did not push open. She turned the knob in the opposite direction and pushed again. The door remained closed. Rogue threw herself at the door, banging on it with her fist. She swore she could see a faint line of light at the base of the door, light that was blue and danced. Mentally, she shook herself but she could not dispel the sight of the lights. With both hands on the knob she pushed forward and in a fury jerked back. The door flew open towards her and sent Rogue flying backwards.

Rogue threw up her hand to block the light that dazzled her eyes. She moved forward. She could hear something, the soft rush of wind or static. Rogue blinked and her vision cleared. She was looking out at sunlight dancing on bright blue water. The sound she heard was of surf softly meeting the shore. Overhead a cerulean sky stretched out to meet the horizon of deep blue water. Rogue stepped forward and found herself standing on a weatherbeaten boardwalk of blue-grey wood. Palm trees swayed in a soft breeze, and dappled sunlight danced across the ground. Rogue looked to the left and right, searching for some sign of life. She spotted movement a few yards away and walked towards it. A fat orange and white cat was sitting on a wooden pylon cleaning its face with a paw. As she approached it blinked its green eyes at her, lowered its paw and yawned widely. The cat hopped down from the post and walked down the boardwalk. Rogue followed.

The cat hopped up a short flight of steps. Rogue climbed to the top of the staircase and looked around. There was a pier to her left that stretched out over the water. A man was sitting on the end of dock, his legs dangling off the edge. The cat wandered down the dock towards the man.

Rogue started forward. "Remy!" she called, but the man did not turn. The cat had joined him at the dock's edge and now sat. Remy turned, reached out and scratched the cat's chin. Rogue walked swiftly down the dock. She saw now that he was wearing earphones, that the white cord snaked down from beneath his chin to the music player in his lap. "Remy!" she called again.

He must have felt the slight shudder of her footfalls on the dock because he turned and pulled the earbuds from his ears. Rogue gasped with relief as she reached the end of the dock. "Remy...thank god!"

Remy looked up at her with an expression of perplexed annoyance. "How did you get in here?" he asked angrily. "This is private."

Rogue wanted to weep. She crouched down beside him. "You're alive, you're okay!"

Remy blinked at her. "_Chere_, what you doin' here? Who are you?"

Rogue startled, feeling as though she'd been punched in the chest. "Wh—what? Remy, it's me. Anna."

Remy was shaking his head slightly. "I don't...I don't _know_ you. Why are you in my head?"

"You don't know me?" she repeated, searching his eyes for some clue that his words were meant to be cruel, that he was trying to hurt her.

He frowned at her for a moment, but the pain must have shown plainly on her face because his expression softened. "I got a knack for names," he said as he looked into her eyes. "I'd be sure t'remember a girl like you."

* * *

><p><em>Next time: Gambit hates snow...<em>


	47. Cigarettes & Chocolate Milk

_Cigarettes and chocolate milk  
>These are just a couple of my cravings<br>Everything it seems I like's a little bit stronger  
>A little bit thicker<br>A little bit harmful for me  
>If I should buy jellybeans<br>Have to eat them all in just one sitting  
>Everything it seems I like's a little bit sweeter<br>A little bit fatter  
>A little bit harmful for me<br>And then there's those other things  
>Which for several reasons we won't mention<br>Everything about them is a little bit stranger  
>A little bit harder<br>A little bit deadly  
>It isn't very smart,<br>Tends to make one part,  
>So broken-hearted<br>_-Cigarettes & Chocolate Milk, Rufus Wainwright

Remy was cold. Above him was a featureless white-gray sky. Before him was an expanse of white snow and ice. The landscape was bleak. Remy couldn't see how anyone could live in such a place or why they would choose to; he must truly be mad to be here. He wasn't wearing his coat and he was shivering. He was glad for the cold because it disguised the fact his hands were shaking not from the temperature, but from fear.

Remy had felt more like himself in recent months than he had in a long time. Cyclops and Storm had taken a stand against Cable deciding first and foremost, the X-Men were a family and their home was here at Xavier's school. They decided that they were going to rebuild, to live amongst humans, and not make the mistake of separating themselves again as they had when they'd lived in Australia. This reassured Remy. The X-Men were not soldiers, they would not be launching preemptive strikes. There were team leaders, but not commanding officers. Everyone's input was taken into consideration, no one was an automaton. And Cyclops had the ability to herd cats, which was lucky for Remy because he finally felt like he fit in. He was on a team: the Blue Team.

He could deal with his anger, his depression, and alleviate his guilt with distraction. There was always something to do to divert his attention. There was even a girl, a beautiful girl. Remy didn't know her name and they could never touch. Rogue was like a crime scene, so many lines he couldn't cross. It suited him fine, it was best to keep his distance and not get too close. He wasn't going to let himself fall in love again. Remy liked Rogue's sassy mouth. He liked the way she turned pink when he made a suggestive comment. He liked her big hair; where he came from, the bigger your hair, the closer you were to God. She could even fly like an angel. Remy liked the way she carried herself, her empathy for others, and her ability to persevere. And he liked her sad green eyes. He wanted so badly for her to smile.

He should have known that it couldn't go on as it had, that he couldn't just leave his past behind and start over again. His troubles were snowballing, and Remy hated snow. It started with Creed showing up at the school. Even now, the man was kept in the lower level of the X-mansion. Remy hated Creed being there. He felt as if there was a blade that would at any moment drop on him, severing him from the X-Men and from Rogue. Then there was Carter Ryking who had made a sudden appearance and had kidnapped Professor Xavier. Gambit had been on the mission to rescue Xavier and had been quickly taken out of the fight. He was glad for that mercy, but not for the verbal dressing down he got from Cyclops afterward, the one about failing to act together as a team. Rogue and Logan had gotten the same lecture, so he was reassured that he wasn't being singled out.

The worst was what happened to the Morlocks. Callisto had taken up with an insane man named Mikhail, the brother of the painter she had once loved. Together they flooded the tunnels and swept all the Morlocks away into the East River, including beautiful Sarah. There was no Pooh and Christopher Robin to save Piglet from the flood in their overturned umbrella. Sarah's little light was gone, and the world was darker for it.

Then Remy's family had been attacked by The Brood, a race of parasitical aliens. The Brood thought the Guilds good hosts given that they all shared a familial link. Better yet, they all were magically bonded together, allowing them to communicate silently and be comforted by one another's presence. Remy had returned to New Orleans with the X-Men to fight The Brood. The X-Men had dropped everything and flown to the rescue, no questions asked. Afterwards, Remy had felt a little shell-shocked. He was surprised that the X-Men had risked themselves so freely for his family. They said nothing about the Guilds, the improbable tunnels, or their secretive ways. It was all another strange event in a series of strange events, taken in stride. But BellaDonna had been killed, and suddenly Remy's world had canted to the side, threatening to overturn.

Only Belle didn't die, and Remy and Rogue had gone back to New Orleans to save her, to face down Candra. And Henri had been killed. Through their bond, Remy felt him die and suddenly he was unmoored and sent adrift in a dangerous sea. The voice of reason had been silenced, and now Rogue was speaking to him in his soon-to-be ex-wife's voice. Belle didn't even know him any more, and maybe hated him. She'd sent him divorce papers. Now the world was upside-down. Remy could deal with the anger, the depression, and the feelings of worthlessness, but he could not handle the psychosis. Things were making less and less sense to him. He was living in mortal terror.

Remy was standing out on the front porch of the X-Mansion watching his teammate Betsy Braddock get into a vehicle with Warren Worthington. Remy told her to take care of herself before she left. He worried for her and hoped that Warren could protect her. Remy was smoking; he'd been going through packs of cigarettes at an alarming rate. Behind him, he could hear the pneumatic hiss of Professor Xavier's hover chair.

Xavier spoke: "Aren't you cold?"

Remy took another long drag from his cigarette. "Freezin'," he said, glancing at Xavier, "but since you made Hank in charge, I can't even smoke in my own room anymore."

Xavier raised his brows. "It's a vile habit anyway," Xavier said. "Considering the lives we live, why add to the risk?"

Remy raised the corner of his mouth in a grim smile. "Those were de exact words Belle used t'tell me...and what Rogue's been tellin' me now too." He exhaled nervously, his breath frosting the air.

Xavier studied Remy for a moment and Remy wanted to squirm under the scrutiny. "Is everything all right?" Xavier asked.

Remy took a shaking breath. "I...wondered if we might talk," he began slowly. "About what happened in New Orleans...wit' Belle and Rogue."

Xavier pressed his lips together and nodded. "Certainly. Shall we take this discussion to my office...where it might be a bit warmer?"

Remy flicked his butt to the ground and stepped on it with his toe. "Sounds like a plan," he said.

"But Remy," Xavier said, raising his finger, "before we do so, would you please pick up your litter and properly dispose of it?"

Abashed, Remy ducked his head. "Guess I must still be a kid at heart," he said, embarrassed at the reprimand. He picked up the butt and charged it into nothing. He trailed after Xavier into the mansion.

Xavier didn't sit behind his desk, but instead sat beside Remy as he took an empty chair. Made nervous by his proximity, Remy stuck his cold hands under his arms. Remy liked Xavier. He was not what Remy had expected. Xavier was the preeminent telepath on the planet, but he wore his power with grave responsibility. Xavier had a son who suffered from multiple personality disorder. And Carter Ryking was not a patient of Xavier's, but an old childhood friend. He treated them both with sympathy. Xavier made the difficult decisions to spare his students from having to do so. When a man from the future had arrived to call Remy a traitor, Xavier could have put everyone's doubts to rest about Remy's loyalties by simply invading his mind and taking the answers, but he didn't. Remy wondered if Xavier wasn't waiting for him to make the first move.

Remy had been silent for a long while and still Xavier was patient. Xavier's appearance was austere, serious, but his eyes were kind. They were blue like his father Jean-Luc's. "Would you like to start from the beginning?" he asked quietly.

Remy felt a sudden jolt of fear. The beginning? The beginning was being thrown from the arms of the only person he loved, cast out a window into the arms of a stranger and a strange, cold world. "No," Remy said sharply.

He could feel Xavier studying him, but Remy refused to meet his gaze. "No? Well, perhaps we can start with the present...and work our way backwards?"

Remy nodded slowly, trying to force the memory back into the darkness where it belonged. "I'm afraid I'm going crazy," he said after the struggle. He shut the door on the memory again.

"I'm sure it feels that way sometimes...living as an X-Man," Xavier said kindly.

He swallowed. "No...it's not a figure of speech. I'm certifiable. I have de papers t'prove it."

Xavier remained silent, waiting for Remy to continue.

Remy's jaw worked for a moment. "D'you think Ryking was born evil or made that way?"

Xavier seemed momentarily surprised. "I don't believe him to be evil at all, Remy," he said. "I believe it was a combination of things that made him behave in a certain way, not the least was the neglect he suffered at the hands of his father who would rather ignore the problem than address it."

Remy mulled this over. "But you didn't help him."

Xavier folded his hands in his lap and looked down. "I will be the first to admit my shortcomings as a friend."

"You didn't look at de file he gave you. You're ignoring what happened...before. From de past."

Xavier looked at Remy. "I thought you wanted to discuss your feelings, Remy."

"We are," Remy said quietly. "I don't blame you. I wouldn't have looked in de file either. Sometimes it's best t'leave things as they are."

"You're a difficult man to read," Xavier said after a pause. "Much like David. Like Carter too."

Remy felt as if he were standing on the edge of a precipice looking down into a black void. But instead of death, he saw instead the truth. And it was worse, much worse. "So you know I'm crazy? How long have you known?"

"You aren't crazy," Xavier said. "I believe you may have a mood disorder."

Remy's hands gripped the arms of his chair. "Can you fix it?"

"Fix it?"

"Like go into my head and...I dunno, rewire some things?" Remy asked, suddenly desperate.

"You don't know what you're asking me to do," Xavier said.

"I can't live this way," Remy said. "My head's all full of holes anyhow."

"It would mean changing your personality, the way you think. How you see the world."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Remy said.

"I think it would mean making a terrible sacrifice. Your voice would be silenced," Xavier responded.

Remy felt suddenly miserable. "You won't do it? But you could. You blanked out Magneto's head. Couldn't you just turn things rightsides-in for me?"

"No," Xavier said. "I wouldn't do that to you, Remy. You're not Magneto."

Remy put his head in his hands. "I can't go on like this."

"It's not a death sentence. There are medications you can take to help manage the symptoms. But what you need to do...is talk. You need to pursue a line of therapy. There is no quick fix. It won't be easy," Xavier told him and put his hand on Remy's arm.

Remy blinked and slowly sat upright. He tried to breathe. His eyes looked everywhere but at Xavier. There was a book on his desk, a children's book. "What's that?" he asked, gesturing with his chin.

Xavier looked to the book then picked it up. He smiled at the cover, then showed it to Remy. "_Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_,"he said. "Have you read it?"

Remy took the offered book. "Don't have much use for magic," he said. "Gives me hives."

"It's not so much about magic as it is about bravery, friendship, and family," Xavier said. "And doing what is right, over what is easy."

Remy swallowed and opened the cover. The first chapter was titled: The Boy Who Lived.

"Would you like to borrow it?" Xavier asked.

Remy shook his head. "I've put my faith in false idols b'fore," he said as he closed the book.

"If you're asking if you can trust me, I am just as fallible as the next man. I've made mistakes, terrible ones."

Remy regarded him. "I can't trust my own mind."

"What does your heart tell you?" Xavier said with a light smile.

"My heart can be had for a song. It's stupid and blind."

"I think you could use a different perspective on this," Xavier said. "Think instead it is open and willing. You strike me as a gambling man. Are you willing to take a chance?"

"Pretty high stakes," Remy said. He reached into his sleeve and withdrew a deck of cards. "Tell you what...pick a card." He fanned the deck in his two hands in front of Xavier.

"A magic trick?" Xavier said, speculatively.

"Like I said, I got no use for magic," Remy told him. "I got t'see what's in de cards for you."

"Very well," Xavier said and reached for a card. He slid one from the deck and showed it to Remy. "So, what does it tell you?"

Remy looked at the card and smiled. "I wouldn't have guessed," he began. "But looks like you're all hearts."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Retelling of X-Men #32<em>

_Next time: A mix of happy and sad, a playlist I made just for you._


	48. Untitled

_Some say I am to blame  
>Brother...brother<br>Some days I feel the same  
>And feelin' that shame<br>Away under the moon  
>Brother...brother<br>Away gone so soon  
>Please singing this tune<br>Still singing this tune  
>And away he gone dark, and away he gone light<br>And away he gone day, and away he gone night  
>Up and away he gone away<br>But in a way he gonna stay  
>Oh, brother of mine, we'll be singing someday<br>Undead audio, yes we'll be singing today  
><em>-Brother, Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros

Remy was standing at the edge of the lake looking out over the water. Sunlight shone on the small waves and on the green leaves of the trees. Above was blue sky and white clouds. Remy picked up a flat stone and sent it skipping over the surface of the lake. At the moment, he was alone; completely alone for the first time since he had been a child locked in a closet. Rafael was gone, truly dead this time. Sinister had killed him. Sinister didn't know about Rafael, he never knew there were two. But even so, Remy had been unable to protect him and Rafael had taken the bolt that was meant for Remy.

He knew he should be doing something to escape, to take cover from the clouds of depression that were gathering on the horizon. But he felt so drained, so tired. He should try to relax, he should pray, he should distract himself...all the things that the therapists had told him to do.

He was crouching to pick up another rock when he felt the sensation of being watched. Remy stood and looked around. It felt as though there was another Guild thief nearby. His eyes searched the forest and a sudden soft breeze stirred the tree limbs overhead. There was a sensation of being lightly touched on the shoulder and soft words spoken: _I'm here_.

"Henri?" Remy asked quietly. Then: "Poppa...?"

There was a crashing through the underbrush. Bobby Drake emerged from the forest, struggling to pull his pant leg free of a thorn bush.

"Dang pricker bushes!" he said, sliding down the embankment to where Remy stood. "What are you doing out here, anyway?"

Remy shrugged a shoulder and sent his rock across the water. "Rafe liked it out here. Me, I've always been a shoe made for de city."

"It's nicer when everything is covered with ice. No bugs," Bobby said, brushing leaf debris from his brightly colored shirt. "Your sister-in-law's here...as if you couldn't hear her coming a mile away."

"Oh," Remy said looking at the water.

"Don't sound so excited," Bobby said dryly.

"No...I'm glad she's here. I just thought—-," Remy stopped.

"Thought what?"

"Nothin'," Remy said.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever. You good?"

"Good enough," Remy replied.

"Stop beating yourself up," Bobby said.

Crouching again, Remy picked through the stones at the shoreline. Bobby joined him. When they both had chosen the right stone, they took turns throwing. Remy's stone hit the water with several short sparks before detonating with a splash. Bobby's stone skidded across a thin sheet of ice far out into the center of the lake.

"Cheater," Remy said.

"That's not cheating...that's natural talent," Bobby replied. "Did you think I was going to let you win just because you're out here feeling sorry for yourself?"

"I'm not...not for myself anyway," Remy paused. "I thought he was evil-Rafael...and then Apocalypse's influence went away and I thought he was just...gone. I didn't know it was me who locked him up, kept him a prisoner. Because I kept ignoring what happened-before."

"He didn't seem to resent you for it," Bobby said. "He loved you."

Remy avoided looking at Bobby. "It was selfish of me...to trap Rafe. Force him t'live a half-life. I should have tried to set him free, find some other way."

"You were trying to protect him," Bobby said.

"I was tryin' t'keep him to myself. I'm not good at sharing. It's 'cause I can't-that I don't want..."

"Didn't want what?"

Remy sighed. "Nothin'," he said again.

"From the little time I spent with him, I could tell he was a pretty good kid. You were a good big brother to him, Remy."

"Thing is, he was born first. I'm still de baby," Remy gave Bobby a smile.

"I can tell. You're a spoiled brat."

"Hey!"

"Do you think you'll go back?" Bobby asked.

"Back...? T'de house? I can't avoid Mercy forever, I suppose."

"No, I mean to New Orleans."

Remy said: "Of course. Summer recess. June, July, and August in N'Awlins...sounds like heaven."

"Not to me," Bobby said. "Quite the opposite, in fact."

"Does that mean y'don't wanna come down wit' me and Cece?"

"I guess it depends on what Mercy's planning on playing on the radio. So, you're not staying for good?"

Remy shrugged. "That'd be a neat little package, wouldn't it? Me and Belle and baby make three, right? Close de door on this life and go back t'bein' a thief again."

"You don't sound keen on the idea. I thought it's what you wanted?"

"I don't ask for more for myself. But I do want more for Tildy. Shouldn't she get t'have options? I want her t'have every opportunity I didn't get t'have...there's more choices than thief or assassin."

Bobby struck a heroic pose and he said grandiosely: "Like spandex-wearing superhero!"

"I mean like...accountant, teacher...doctor. Normal stuff," Remy said, and turned to walk back up the embankment. "Or at least as normal as you can get when you've got a sadistic genius mad-scientist stalker like Sinister after you."

Bobby followed Remy back through the forest. "Between here and New Orleans, she'll have all the protection she could need. I mean, I wouldn't want to have to face down an angry Cecelia. She's scary."

"So I've learned," Remy said. "The hard way."

They reached the back patio. A picnic table had been set up and three students were seated around it. Logan stood at the end of the table, his arms crossed. The three boys, Julian Keller, Glob Herman, and Quentin Quire had their heads bent over their books but their eyes on the lady. Mercy was holding a duffel bag in her hand and talking to Logan. A fourth boy was with her, dressed dramatically in black with a sullen expression on his face.

"Should I have come through de front?" Mercy was asking Logan as Remy and Bobby approached. She set the bag onto the bench beside Quentin.

"Nah," Logan said. "That's just for visitors. Family comes in this way," he said, hooking his thumb over his shoulder towards the back door. Logan nodded in Remy and Bobby's direction. Mercy turned to look and her expression brightened.

"Okay drive?" Remy asked her.

Mercy bounced over and threw her arms around Remy's neck. "I'm so glad t'see you!" she cried and stood back, looking at Remy and running her hands down his arms. "All in one piece too!" She kissed him several times.

Julian rolled his eyes and grumbled: "Oh, well that just figures."

"What?" Bobby said. "No hug for me?"

Mercy turned and slugged Bobby in the shoulder.

"Ow!" Bobby cried, and grabbed his shoulder. "What was that for?"

"For scaring me half t'death!" she yelled. She pointed at Remy. "Look, he's fine! Y'think he'd go an drown?"

"Geez! That hurt!"

"Mercy," Remy said, glancing at the three boys, "what did I tell you about findin' a proper shirt? A sports bra is not a top."

"She looks fine to me," Herman said, his eyes goggling.

"It _is_ fine," Mercy said, holding out her arms. "I'm covered, see!"

"Long ride, Shirow?" Bobby asked the sullen-faced boy.

"Oh, don't bother talking t'him," Mercy said. "He's in a sulk."

"Do you have any idea how awful your taste in music is?" Shirow asked her.

"Hey, don't think just b'cause you're outside de Guild house you can go mouthin' off t'me," Mercy said.

The three boys sniggered and Shirow glared at them.

"What's wit' de school books?" Mercy asked. "I thought you layabouts took de summers off?"

"These three are in summer school," Logan told her. "For skippin', slackin' off, or otherwise flunkin' classes. You yahoos, listen up. This here's a new student. Shirow, this is Quentin, Glob, and Julian. Until we bring you up to speed with how things are done around here, you'll be stuck with them for the next three months, sorry to say."

Shirow looked at them skeptically, then at Logan. "Sore-ee?" he repeated.

"That's Canadian-speak for 'sorry,'" Remy supplied. "'_Sorry_ to say.'"

"I don't hear the difference," Logan snapped.

"You'd better get your ears checked, _eh_?" Remy replied.

"What do you do?" Quentin asked Shirow.

"Do?" Shirow asked.

"What are your powers?" Julian asked as if he were speaking to an idiot.

Shirow considered the boys a moment. "I have the ability to make you all my mindless zombie slaves. Sumbit now and it will go easier on you."

The three boys stared at Shirow.

"Hah," Logan said and clapped a hand down on Shirow's narrow shoulder. "We could use some deadpan humor around here."

Mercy frowned at Shirow. "Oh, he's just cranky. It's way past his bedtime."

The summer school students snickered and Shirow shot Mercy a basilisk glare. A phone appeared in Shirow's hand and he began angrily texting.

"Hey, I have a phone just like that," Quentin said.

"Correction," Shirow said furiously typing. "You _had_ a phone like this."

"Wha-?" Quentin said, and reached for his back pocket. Finding no phone, he overturned his books and rummaged through his bag. "Hey!"

Remy snatched the phone from Shirow's hands and returned it to Quentin. "No stealing. Consider these people family."

Shirow frowned. "I've all ready given Alice that number. Now how am I going to talk to her?"

"Write her a nice letter," Remy replied.

Hank McCoy opened the patio door and walked out into the sunlight. "Good afternoon, friends," he said as he ambled over. "Welcome, Shirow!"

"C'mon kid," Logan said. "Let's get you settled. Grab your stuff." Shirow followed after Logan towards the house.

"Hey, don't you give your cousin Mercy a goodbye?" Remy exclaimed and was ignored by Shirow. The back door slammed. "Bratty kids!" he huffed.

Mercy was eyeballing Hank. He strode over to her and held out his hand. "Ms. LeBeau? A pleasure. Hank McCoy."

Mercy smiled like a cat with a canary. "Please, call me Mercy. And I know who you are," she purred. "Remy has had nothing but _nice_ things t'say about you, '_En-ree_ McCoy."

"Hey, what's this now?" Bobby asked.

"You're layin' it on a bit thick," Remy muttered at Mercy's back.

"Then I am pleased to have my reputation precede me. And how nice it is that you're willing to entrust young Shirow to our care," Hank said as Mercy took his hand and held it.

"Well...I can't say I don't have a few misgivings...," Mercy began, putting her other hand over top of Hank's. "I've heard something about lava in de lavatories..."

"Oh, we've since had that rectified," Hank said. "No worries! I designed the facility myself. I can tell you with certainty that Shirow's experiences here will be ones he'll never forget."

"My goodness, kind _and _intelligent," Mercy said her eyes wide. "Aren't you just de complete package?" Mercy had yet to release Hank's hand and he didn't seem to be in a hurry to get it back.

"Can you believe this?" Julian was saying to Quentin.

"Madame LeBeau...Mercy," Hank began. "It would delight me to familiarize you with what we have to offer. Shall I show you around campus?"

"I like what I see all ready," she replied, her eyes flicking over him. Hank began to steer her away from the patio. "You were an Avenger, weren't you...?" Mercy was asking.

"Mercy...," Remy said, his voice a warning. Mercy waved her hand dismissively at him as she and Hank began to depart.

"What's going on here?" Bobby said cluelessly.

"Well, that was quite some time ago," Hank replied, looking happily into Mercy's wide eyes and guiding her by the arm.

"You have quite a lot of experience," Mercy said, her accent getting airier with every word. "An X-Man, an Avenger...a doctor, a teacher...mah goodness!"

"I wouldn't want to bore you with my accolades," Hank said. "Please, tell me more about yourself." They were quite a distance away by this time.

"Did you know...my late husband was also named 'Enri..." Mercy's voice floated over to them.

"Oh...my condolences..." Hank patted her arm affectionately.

"I've had time to heal...You remind me of him...a bit..."

Remy shook his head disgustedly.

"What the heck! What am I, yesterday's news?" Bobby exclaimed.

"Sorry, Bobby. I should have warned you," Remy said.

"Warned me? About what?" Bobby asked.

"Well...Mercy's kinda got a reputation," Remy began.

"What kind of reputation?" Bobby asked with trepidation.

Remy hummed a bit while trying to find the correct phrasing. "It started b'fore she and Henri got hitched. I mean, she's...got a lot of experience-under her belt. None of de other Guild members woulda taken her on for a wife, not that she wasn't faithful t'Henri, mind you. Don't think I'm t'judge her or nothing. And maybe de way she copes wit' death and grief is..._life affirming_. That and I think on account of having five older brothers she's a bit...competitive. "

"Competitive?" Bobby repeated.

"She kinda has a thing...for spandex-wearin' superheroes."

"You're kidding me."

Remy looked skyward. "Well, it started wit' Reed Richards...Then there was de time she was," Remy made air-quotes, "_caught _by Daredevil."

"What!"

"Not too long ago she might've roped Blade in. Yeah, definitely some conoodling goin' on there. Mmm...and then there was you," Remy pointed at Bobby. "But she hadn't found an Avenger she liked yet."

Bobby gaped at Remy then exclaimed: "What am I: a _trophy_? I feel...I feel so _used_! Used for my body!"

"Like I said: sorry I didn't warn you," Remy said apologetically. "I kinda hoped you two might've hit it off."

"Objectified!" Bobby continued. "I'm like a...a sex object!"

Remy frowned at him.

"This is ridiculous," Quentin said in an undertone.

"This is _great_!" Bobby said, raising his arms over his head. "Now _I'm_ the hot one! _I'm-too sexy for this shirt...too sexy for this shirt..._"

"There's no one _alive_ that would be sexy in that shirt," Julian said.

"_So sexy it hurts!_" Bobby continued to sing and added a few dance moves.

"My brain hurts," Herman said and put his head down into his book.

Remy was shaking his head.

"I didn't even have to have an accent!" Bobby said. "Though maybe I should get one?"

"You _have_ one," Remy said irritably.

"'Ow abowt zees? Eet iz my sec-cee new occ-sont!"

"What is that supposed t'be?"

"Please, call me Ro-bair! And eet iz my out_ray_-geeous _Fronch_ occ-sont! Sec-see, yes?"

"Please, stop," Quentin said.

"It's worse than your horrible British accent," Remy remarked, unamused.

"You're just jealous. There's a new stud in town. You've been replaced," Bobby informed Remy.

"I'm going to barf," Julian said.

"How much longer are we going to have to listen to this?" Quentin whined.

Remy closed Quentin's book. "There, you're done. Go on and play."

"Play?" Julian sneered. "What are we, like, five?"

Remy waved them away. "Go do whatever it is you do."

"Yeah, like sulk...complain...roll your eyes," Bobby said dryly. "Overuse sarcasm. Just go do it outside. It's too nice to be indoors."

"How 'bout you join de others at de pool?" Remy suggested.

The trio at least had the sense not to complain about being let out of their studies early. Bobby and Remy followed them at a distance, mostly to be sure that the students were heading in the right direction. Once poolside, they spotted Joanna about to climb down from the lifeguard chair and Sam taking over for her.

Remy stood below the chair and watched Joanna climb down with an appreciative smile on his face. She was wearing a bright red swimsuit, mirrored sunglasses, with a whistle around her neck. When she stood in front of him, she put her hands on her hips. "What're you looking at?" she asked.

"I was just thinking-I hope you're on duty de next time I fall in de drink," Remy told her. "Y'know. If I need mouth-to-mouth."

Joanna shoved him. "Forget it. I'm done making out with you," she said crossly. "I will die of sexual frustration before you ever put out. It's like being in high school again."

Bobby rubbed his hand over his face. "Ugh...I give up."

"I need to get out of the sun," Joanna griped and began walking to the covered pavilion.

"You don't want any help wit' your sunscreen?" Remy said, trailing after her.

"I'm on to you, Cajun!" Joanna said.

They found Kitty, Idie, and Cecelia in the pavilion with the baby. Rothko was on the cement slab, laying next to the baby carrier and looking up at Kitty. Kitty was holding the baby in her lap and making faces and silly sounds at her.

Cecelia looked at Remy. "Feel better?" she asked.

Remy shrugged.

"He's grouchy because I beat him at skipping stones," Bobby said.

"Want to hold Tildy yet?" Remy asked Joanna.

"No, I do not," Joanna scowled, "want to hold a miniature-sized sticky human with a plastic bag of crap tied around her waist."

"Ohh, Joanna, you're sooo nasty! Look at her! She's just the sweetest thing. Yes you are! Yes you are!" Kitty cooed.

"Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I'm going to lose my mind over some baby like this one over here," she said, pointing her chin in Kitty's direction. "And turn into a blathering pile of estrogen."

"C'mon, Jo," Bobby said. "You have to admit she's pretty cute."

"You've seen one baby you've seen them all," Joanna snarked.

"She is cute," Idie piped up. She was sitting beside Kitty and peering into the baby's face. "I mean, you wouldn't be able to tell she's a bastard and that her parents are immoral fornicating sinners. You really should have her baptized as soon as possible, Remy. Before she's doubly damned."

Remy blinked at Idie several times. "Did you just call my child a bastard?" he asked quietly.

Kitty and Bobby both gaped at Idie. Joanna burst out laughing.

"Idie!" Cecelia snapped.

"What?" Idie asked and looked up with an oblivious expression on her face.

Remy pointed towards the house. "Go inside and fetch de wooden spoon."

"Why?" Idie asked, puzzled.

"'Cause I'm gonna tan your backside wit' it!"

Idie opened her mouth, shocked.

Bobby raised his hands. "Now, that's definitely against policy," he said. "No corporal punishment."

"If Tante Mattie'd been here, you'd of gotten whacks for sure," Remy said, pointing at Idie.

"But I-!" Idie began incredulously. "I'm in trouble? I don't get in trouble. I'm the good one!"

"You," Bobby pointed at Idie. "Go to your room."

Idie closed her mouth, her face clouding over. "I didn't say anything that wasn't true!" she announced.

"Room. Now," Bobby said. "And your pool privileges are revoked for a week!"

"Auugh!" Idie said in protest. "This isn't fair!"

"You were disrespectful. It's not your place to talk to your teachers about their personal lives or make any judgements. Keep talking and you'll find yourself without television too."

Idie stood and stomped off furiously, her flip-flops smacking the soles of her feet as she went. "You're so mean!" she wailed, wiping her forearm across her eyes.

Remy watched her go, his expression turning to dismay. "Look what you went and did!" he told Bobby. "Now she hates you!"

"She's a teenager," Bobby said. "They hate everything. That's what you've got to look forward to."

"My way would've hurt a lot less," Remy said.

"She'll get over it," Bobby responded. "Have a spine, Remy."

"Ooo," Kitty said and held the baby up so that she stood her on her knees. "Tildy, you've got two daddies! And one of the daddies needs to change you!"

"I'll take her," Remy said, holding out his arms.

Cecelia stepped in. "Last time you diapered her it took you a half-hour," she said and took Tildy from Kitty's arms.

"Suit yourself, _el jefe,_" Remy said.

Cecelia stood and shouldered the diaper bag. "Get the carrier, will you?" she said to Remy.

"Bossy much?" Joanna sniped.

"Get the carrier..._please_," Cecelia said waspishly. She began walking towards the house. Rothko leapt to his feet and followed after her.

Remy obediently retrieved the carrier and moved to follow after Cecelia.

"Stand up for yourself, you pansy ass," Joanna told Remy as he passed her.

"Ah, Joanna. You know how much I like t'be told what t'do," he grinned at her. "I like a woman wit' a _firm hand._"

"Ha," Joanna smirked and tried to take a swat at Remy. He danced away out of reach.

"We'll have to save you from yourself," Bobby told Remy.

As he walked from the pavilion to follow Cecelia, Remy turned and said: "Don't rescue me just yet."

* * *

><p><em>There's a great pair of eyes,<br>And they're resting in your pretty head  
>Though I don't know quite why<br>But I'll never express how I feel  
>Yes, it's true I've been tamed<br>The past two years I've really changed  
>There's a great pair of crimes,<br>The loneliness of you and I  
>And all I want is another try,<br>Yes, all I want is to just feel the same  
>So what's your name...your name?<br>And all I want is another try,  
>Yes all I want is to just feel the same<br>So what's your name...your name...your name?_  
>-Untitled, Stellastarr*<p>

Anna Marie could see Cecelia walking across the patio towards the back door. Anna was seated at the kitchen table, poking at her laptop. When Cecelia stepped through the back door, Anna pretended she was busy. She glanced up from her computer screen.

Cecelia looked around nervously for a moment, her eyes not quite meeting Anna's. "Diaper change," she said and quickly walked from the room carrying the baby. Anna didn't think Cecelia knew about what had happened; that Anna had touched Remy and absorbed one very humiliating memory. But Anna's feelings about the matter must have been pretty clear on her face.

Remy was following, as was his dog. He entered the kitchen and set the baby carrier down just next to the door. The dog began to walk after Cecelia, but Remy snapped his fingers and pointed downwards. The dog reluctantly slunk under the table with a miserable groan; Rothko was very protective of the baby. Remy smiled at Anna and pulled out a nearby chair to sit beside her.

"What you doin' inside on a nice day like this?" he asked her.

Anna closed her laptop. "Lesson plans," she said.

"For de summer?" Remy said. "_Chere_, you deserve a break."

"For Shirow. Ah thought Ah'd spend some one on one time with him...t'help get him acclimated," she replied.

"Sure is nice of you t'take him under your wing, Anna," he said. "You're a good teacher, shouldn't you be in your element? Why you look so glum, _enh_? Hate t'see such a pretty girl look so sad."

Anna looked at Remy, her eyes meeting his own. He seemed to care. His expression was one of concern. But there was nothing else in his gaze that would tell her he still felt the same as before; that he had once loved her. "You don't remember me...not at all?" Anna asked.

He tilted his head and squinted at her. "I remembered your name dis time, didn't I Anna Marie? Helps if I know a little song: _C'est vous, c'est vous. m'aimez beaucoup...I miss you-Anna Marie_..."

Anna ducked her head. "You should be restin' your voice, sugah. You're still soundin' a bit rough."

"Won't be doin' any karaoke any time soon," Remy replied. "I'm sorry, _chere_. Didn't mean t'hurt your feelings or anything. It shames me not t'remember. Must have been hard on me t'forget a girl like you."

"You don't need t'apologize for something Sinister did," she told him. "What he stole from you."

She could feel him studying her face. "I consider myself very lucky, you know," he said after a moment's pause.

She looked back up at him. "How's that, hun?"

Remy took her hand from where it rested on the tabletop and raised it to his mouth. "Not every man gets a second chance t'have a first kiss." He pressed his lips to the backs of her fingers and looked up at her, his eyes bright.

Anna smirked at him and snatched her hand away. "That's assumin' you'll be given any chance, a'tall," she told him.

He grinned. "Oh, I know I will."

"You sure, sugah?" she said teasingly.

Remy nodded sagely, his eyes slits. "I can see de future..." he added mysteriously.

"So you've picked up some new tricks?" Anna asked, leaning forward on her elbows, her hands folded under her chin.

"No tricks," Remy said. He then drew a deck of cards from his jacket and fanned them out in his hands before her. "Draw," he said.

Playing along, Anna ran her fingers over the spread of cards and selected one. She showed it to him.

"Trial by fire..." he said. "That's de past. Looks like you were found innocent, surprisingly enough."

Anna smiled. "All right, now what?" She drew another card. Remy regarded it.

"Seems you're at a cross-roads, Anna," he said. "That's de present."

"So which way t'go?" she asked playfully.

"Let's see what de next card holds," he said and waved the fanned cards before her. She rested her fingers on another card. He stopped her by drawing back. "Now wait a minute. Sure you want to know...?"

Anna smirked and pulled out the card. She showed it to him. "What's this one mean?"

Remy shook his head and looked disappointed. "Oh...bad luck, that."

Anna looked at the card. "Why? Seems like a good sign."

"It _could_ be...," Remy began. "But you'll have your work cut out for you tryin' t'earn a piece of that knave's heart."

Anna flicked the Jack of Hearts at Remy and the card bounced off his chest. "Ah've a talent for winnin' hearts and minds, " she said softly with a winsome grin.

Remy nodded affirmatively. "Won't sayin' it'll be easy. But it'll be worth it." He picked up the card and held it beside his face and grinned.

Anna regarded him pensively.

"You'd best hang on to this," he said, returning the card to her. "So you'll recognize your Jack when he shows up."

Anna accepted the card and held it in her palm. Remy smiled at Anna but then his eyes flicked to someone standing behind her in the doorway. "On de other hand, dis knave's whole heart belongs to another...And here she is now!" he announced and stood. He walked over to where Cecelia was standing in the doorway and took the infant from her arms. "Matilde, my angel. I have a card for you too." He flicked his wrist and a card appeared between his fingertips. "Here it is, Queen of my Heart."

* * *

><p><em>Oh well I look at you and say: It's the happiest that I've ever been<br>And I'll say: I no longer feel I have to be James Dean  
>And she'll say: Yeah, well I feel all pretty happy too<br>And I'm always pretty happy when I'm just kicking back with you  
>And it'll be love, love, love<br>All through our bodies  
>And love, love, love<br>All through our minds  
>And it'll be love, love, love<br>All over her face  
>And love, love, love<br>All over mine  
><em>-Five Year's Time, Noah & The Whale

Five shadowy figures loomed over the small infant as she lay in her bassinet. The child was dressed in a white gown and bonnet. She had brown hair, fair skin, and bright blue-violet eyes, the color of a summer sky. She also had a smile...or was it a smirk? Or it might be the expression she made when she was passing gas.

"Is that it?" one of the shadows asked. This figure had pale skin and long, dark hair that hung in a shiny unstyled sheet from her head. In spite of the heat, the shadow was dressed all in black. "Is that all she does?"

"That's it," replied the second shadow. This one had rosy skin and hair that stood up in spikes. The figure's shirt was bright yellow, the denim jeans very blue. "What did you expect her to do, the Samba? She's only a few weeks old."

The first shadow bent and inhaled deeply. "She smells."

The third shadow said: "Maybe she needs changed?" This shadow had honey-blond hair and a quiet voice. The clothes this figure wore were smudged with grime left behind by small sticky hands.

The first shadow continued to smell the infant. "No...she smells-new. Innocent."

"Wouldya stop sniffing the baby!" the fourth and loudest shadow exclaimed. "People are starting to get weirded out!" This shadow had a large floppy hat and was covered head to toe in oversized garments.

"Everything here is weird enough all ready," the spiky-haired figure said and looked at the youngest among them.

The fourth and smallest shadow said: "Stay back, demon-spawn." This figure was holding a silver cross which she pointed at the figure in the hat.

"Idie, shut up all ready. I'm _not_ demon-spawn!" shouted Jubilee.

"I have seen demons. They smell different from vampires," Laura observed.

"Can you please stop with the sniffing?" Jubilee added.

"You have the mark of Satan!" Idie told Jubilee.

"Don't yell, you're upsetting Tildy," Alice said softly.

"You're upsetting _me_! Shut up all of you before I start getting stabby!" Sarah exclaimed.

There was a soft breeze and a sixth figure appeared, drifting down from the sky like an angel. When she landed gracefully before the bassinet, the five figures silenced. The last figure was tall, elegant, with dark skin. She strode forward and leaned over the baby, pushing her long locks of white hair back with her hands.

"Ororo!" called a voice. "Thank _god_ you're here."

Ororo looked up, a smile on her face. "It is a pleasure to see you as well, Robert."

"It's too stinkin' hot! I'm going to spontaneously combust. Please, bring us some relief."

Ororo smiled. Overhead, the sunlight shown through the branches of the live oak tree. The leaves stirred and Bobby Drake moaned with exaggerated pleasure.

"Now you've gone and made it cold, Stormy," said another voice from nearby.

"It is not cold, Remy. It is temperate," she replied. "And I will not reprimand you for calling me that ridiculous name, as I am so very late."

"You missed the Baptism," Idie told her. "It was lovely."

"She screamed the entire time," Sarah complained, pointing at the baby.

"Not the entire time," Laura said. "There were moments of-peacefulness."

Ororo looked at Remy who was seated at a nearby folding table. She placed the small bag she was carrying onto the chair beside him. "May I?" she asked, reaching towards the child.

"Of course," Remy said with a smile. He was also holding an infant, a three-month-old boy named Christophe. Kitty was seated on the opposite side of the table, holding Christophe's twin sister, Christine. Beside Kitty was Remy's cousin Emil. His laptop was open in front of him. He would stare at the screen, type furiously for several moments, then squint in contemplation. Kitty tried not to watch over his shoulder, but her curiosity was getting the better of her.

"Maybe you should..." Kitty whispered and pointed.

"Who's de Guild thief here, me or you?" Emil hissed back.

Emil's toddler Charity was pulling at his arm and whining. He ignored her. BellaDonna was sitting next to Remy. Her expression was part giddy joy, part exhaustion, and a little terror; it was the expression of a new mother.

Belle watched as Ororo lifted Tildy from her bassinet. "She's the most beautiful baby in the world!" Belle said with authority.

"She is quite beautiful," Ororo agreed as she gathered the baby into her arms, then added: "I brought a present for Matilde."

"You didn't have t'do that," Remy told her. "But thanks. And thanks for coming."

"I was pleased to be invited," Ororo said, holding the infant in one arm.

Belle reached over Remy and took the bag Ororo had set there. Inside was a box of distinctive blue tied with a white ribbon. Belle made a gleeful noise. She pulled the bow, removed the box lid, and revealed a tiny pearl bracelet with a silver heart charm. "Oh, so precious!"

"Stormy, did you knock over a Tiffany's?" Remy asked. "I'm so proud. My little girl has grown up!"

Ororo looked heavenwards with an expression of exasperation. "No, Remy. I did not. It comes with my fondest regards," she said. "And I bring warm wishes from everyone else as well."

Remy gave her a skeptical look. "I'll try t'take your word for it," Remy said. "But I'm not sure I believe you."

"Fair-weather friends," Emil muttered while stabbing at keys on his laptop. Bobby kicked him.

"I did not wish for any harm to befall you, my friend," she said. "I could not have guessed you would have been abducted-removed from Magneto's guardianship."

"You can let everyone back on Utopia know I said thank you for their concern," Remy said. "But I have all de help I need."

"Okay, ladies!" Bobby said loudly while holding up a camera. "Let's have a photo. Get together now-smiling faces! That means you, Laura!"

"Will I even show up in a photo?" Jubilee asked.

"Scootch in, Alice," Belle told the girl.

When the girls had gathered around Ororo and the baby, Bobby said: "All right...say _frommage_!" He snapped the photo.

Tildy began to fuss in Ororo's arms. "Do you want your mother?" Ororo asked her.

Belle accepted the baby from Ororo. "Are you hungry, _chou chou_?" she cooed.

Charity was now squealing in anger and jumping up and down while tugging at her father's arm.

"Not now, baby," Emil said absently. "Daddy's workin'."

"You call that working?" Remy said. "Looks like a lot of sittin' and gettin' a gut."

"Just move this over there...," Emil said absently while watching his computer screen, then added loudly: "Hey, next time you're crawlin' out of some sewer drain or air duct, think of me sittin' in my boxers drinking a beer and fleecing chumps from de comfort of my home."

"Dah-_deeee_!" Charity shrieked.

"Almost done," Emil said, leaning back with a grin.

Charity reached up and pushed the off switch on his laptop.

With an exclamation, Emil put his hands into his red hair. "AGH! What did you do!"

Kitty snickered. "C'mere, sweetie. Want to go play?" she asked Charity. She took the little girl's hand and walked her into the back yard where the other clan children were playing a silent and potentially lethal game of baseball under the direction of Rachel, Anna, and Logan.

Remy closed Emil's laptop with his free hand. "You were saying about de comfort of home?"

"That's what you get for workin' on a Sunday," Belle told Emil.

Another figure was striding towards the picnic table from across the LeBeau home's backyard. Joanna came to a halt in front of Remy. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

"Cat got your tongue?" Remy asked.

"Present," she said, and jabbed him in the chest with a package.

Remy winced but accepted the package. "Feels like a book," he said warily.

"Open it," Joanna waved her hand at him and looked away. "There's no prophecies in it."

Remy grinned at her and pulled open the brown paper wrapping. "Look Matilde, it's a book wit' your name on!"

"Oh, I've read this. I love Roald Dahl," Belle said taking the book from him. "_Matilda!_ How perfect! Aren't you sweet,_ doucette_?"

Joanna grumbled.

"There's a card," Remy continued, opening the envelope. He read: "'You probably won't be as awful as the parents in this book...but just in case, try not to fuck up your kid. Love, Joanna.'"

Joanna snatched the card back. "It doesn't say 'love'!" she exclaimed, reexamining the card's contents.

"I was reading between de lines," Remy told her.

Joanna made a face and suddenly something dropped from the tree above. It landed in the card. Joanna shrieked and tossed the card. The babies began to wail.

"Gah!" Joanna screamed. "What _is_ that! Kill it!"

Remy retrieved the card. "Relax Joanna...it's just a little bitty bug."

"Little! You could ride that thing back to the Savage Land where it came from!" Joanna yelled.

"Joanna, chill out!" Bobby said.

Emil stood. "Daddy needs a drink. Gimme my son. Let me rescue him from these shrieking harridans before he's damaged permanently."

Remy relinquished the crying Christophe to Emil.

"I'm going back to civilization!" Joanna announced and stomped back towards the house.

"I guess we shouldn't tell her about that spider on her back," Bobby said in an undertone.

Remy watched Joanna stomp away. When Joanna got to the back door, she side-stepped Cecelia who was exiting. Remy stood and walked onto the patio. Cecelia's arms were laden with plastic cups, each one filled with plastic utensils.

"Need some help?" he asked her.

"No..." Cecelia began, "I got it." One of the cups dropped out from under her elbow. Remy snatched it from the air before it could hit the ground.

He straightened, holding the cup in his hand and jiggling the contents at her. "Knives?" he asked. "Do we need these? What kinda cake did Mercy and Hank make anyhow?"

Cecelia shrugged and nearly lost a few more cups in the process. "They were there...so I thought I'd take them. Just in case."

"You're always so well-prepared," Remy said.

Cecelia's eyes darted to the table set out in the newly-mown lawn. "She's not what I expected. Belle."

"What were you expecting?" Remy asked.

"I don't know. Someone meaner I guess. I wanted to hate her," Cecelia said.

Remy looked surprised. "Why's that?"

Cecelia paused. "I don't know. But I don't hate her. I like her, she's got your same sense of humor. She's very...pretty."

Remy smiled at Cecelia. "Now she is. But we were close long before she got so pretty. We bot' went through our awkward phase together."

Cecelia raised the corner of her mouth. "I find that hard to believe. Awkward phase...when were you ever awkward?"

"You think my smile got so nice on it's own? My orthodontist got to take an early retirement b'cause of me."

Cecelia ducked her head and laughed. "I was a brace-face too...but I had to wait until I was an adult before I got my orthodontics. When I could afford to pay for it. Didn't have much of a reason to smile before then."

"That's de saddest story I ever heard," Remy said. "But you've got plenty to smile about now. Thanks for steppin' up and agreeing to be Tildy's godmother. Belle wouldn't have had it any other way, after all you done to rescue her."

"She's pretty hard to say 'no' to."

"Don't I know it?" Remy replied.

Cecelia looked away, embarrassed. "I was flattered to be asked."

"It's good for Tildy to have someone like you in her life...but don't think it obligates you t'be a part of mine. I know my reality is outside of your comfort zone."

Cecelia looked out at the backyard, the people gathered around the picnic table and the children playing out in the yard. "I like your reality, Remy. You're fine the way you are. It's not you...It's me that has the problem."

"This is a particularly painful cliché, _chere_..."

Cecelia sighed, her eyes still looking into the distance and away from Remy. "I wasn't there for you when you needed me. I was supposed to be the reliable one. I let you down."

"Maybe I'm a bad influence?" Remy asked with a self-deprecating smile.

She shook her head. "I can't say you don't have an affect on me. I-I'm not myself when I'm with you. And I want to be with you all the time. It can't be healthy. You're like an addiction."

"I thought my powers didn't work on you?" he asked and looked down into the cup he held. "Must be my stunning good looks, enh?"

Cecelia rolled her eyes. "No..."

"No?" Remy plucked at his shirtfront and sniffed it. "Pheromones?"

"No, Remy. It's just-you. And I can't seem to control myself."

"I feel like this is a conversation I've had before," Remy said, his expression puzzled.

"And I can't control you. I can't stop you from trying to be a hero, a protector. It's a part of you. I don't want to change who you are. I don't want you to try to change yourself. But if you did something crazy for my sake...If you died because of me...I wouldn't be able to live with myself. And I don't want you to fight my battles for me."

"All well-reasoned arguments. So this is the let's-just-be-friends talk?" Remy asked. "Because if you think I wouldn't put myself out for my friends-."

"I don't want you to accommodate me, to fit my lifestyle. What I want is to be what you need, Remy. I want you to know I'm there for you," she told him. "This is what I'm good at, who I want to be. This is my comfort zone."

Remy looked at her until she looked back at him. "So...it doesn't have anything t'do with-what happened, or rather, didn't happen?"

Cecelia gave a sharp shake of her head. "I never said I'm-I never apologized to you for that. How I treated you...that was-."

"You don't have t'apologize," he told her.

"Please, let's just pretend it didn't happen," she said, looking at the paving stones of the patio.

"Try to pretend _this_ didn't happen..."

Remy stuck the cup with the plastic knives into the crook of Cecelia's arm. With her arms full, she couldn't stop him from leaning forward and kissing the corner of her mouth very gently, his lips lingering. Her eyes fluttered closed and she held her breath.

When he pulled away slightly, she sighed. "You can't be doing that..." she said.

"Just a friendly kiss," he told her quietly.

"That was more than friendly," she said, looking up at him.

He grinned. "Friendly with benefits?" he asked suggestively.

"No. No benefits," she said firmly, trying to resolve herself.

Remy pouted. "I should have known...there's a song about a girl like you. Oh, Cecelia. You're breakin' my heart."

Cecelia shook her head and smiled sadly. "Don't pout."

They made their way to the table to join the others. Cecelia set the cups and utensils onto the plastic surface.

"Where's the cake?" Bobby asked. "I was told there would be cake, and I don't see any cake."

"So help me, Drake...if you say 'cake' one more time," Jubilee told him.

"Cake. Gimme cake."

"You and Remy must've been separated at birth," Belle said.

"Please, no...don't even suggest it," Bobby said.

"Neither of you will be getting a corner piece," Belle informed them. Remy continued to pout.

"The cake might be awhile still," Cecelia responded. "There was an...accident."

"What kind of accident?" Belle was asking when Remy suddenly turned. Another guest was walking slowly across the lawn.

"Who's that?" Bobby asked.

Belle let out a little gasp and hugged Tildy closer to her chest. The man came to a halt a few feet away.

"'Lo, _cher_," he said to Remy.

Remy nodded at the man. He was average height, build, and had a plain face. He looked like someone, but no one at the same time. His longish light brown hair was streaked with silver and his eyes were the color of a bird's egg. "Hello, Uncle," Remy replied.

"_Another_ uncle?" Bobby asked.

"Remy," Belle began with a hiss. "What-!"

"It's okay, Belle," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder.

"My condolences on the recent losses of your loved ones," the man said.

"Same to you," Remy replied.

"So am I goin' to see this baby, or not?" the man asked. "It's why you invited me, _n'est-ce pas_?"

Belle shook her head, but Remy held out his arms for Tildy. "Don't worry, Belle," he said.

"What's going on?" Bobby asked.

Remy took Matilde and put her into the man's arms. The man examined the baby for a moment. "Looks like a Boudreaux for sure, this one," he pronounced. "_Cher_, you sure dis baby's yours?"

"_Excuse_ me?" Belle snapped, her fear suddenly replaced by indignation.

"He's just kiddin'," Remy told her.

"I guess I won't be absconding with this one," the man said and returned the child to Remy. "I'm thinkin' I'm gonna retire. Still got a few stray pups left, though."

"You know where t'send 'em," Remy said.

"Remy," Cecelia interrupted. "You can't possibly be thinking of adopting any more dogs."

"Let's walk a ways," the man told Remy. "Belle still looks nervous and I see there's plenty of knives around."

Remy nodded, sat Tildy in Belle's lap, and the two began to walk towards the carriage house.

"What'd I miss?" they could hear Bobby asking.

They were standing by the old rabbit hutches, a distance away from the table but still close enough to be seen. The man looked out at the backyard and the children playing there. The adults were trying to cajole the children into taking the game less seriously. Someone ended up in the canal.

"Things have changed a lot since I was last here," the man said.

Remy nodded.

The man regarded him for a moment. "You know I never treated you any diff'rent from any of de others in de Mob," he said.

"I know."

"That was Jean-Luc's doing. He's de one who spoiled you."

Remy smiled faintly and raised his eyebrows. "Spoiled?"

The man shrugged. "Don't try that innocent look on me, _cher_. I know all 'bout it."

Remy shook his head. "I don't know what you're talkin' about."

The man gave him a grim smile. "He tole me how he used t'keep you up all hours hopin' to wear you out so you'd sit still for your lessons. Always kept you close by him. He took you everywhere he went...never let you out of his sight. I tried t'tell him, he needed t'let you have a little space. But then he was whisking you off to London, to Venice, Madrid, Prague...Hong Kong. He'd not have let you out of de house otherwise."

Remy shrugged ambivalently.

"And if you did go out, you'd not get far. Up in de tree house. First time in three millennia anyone would ever see a Guild Master up in a tree eatin' crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwiches."

Remy glanced up at the tree house and smiled.

"I know about de dirt bike. I know about de motorcycle after that, and the other bike you got after you wrecked de first one. And de flying lessons. Tell me, what thief needs t'know how t'fly?"

"Came in handy," Remy told him.

"Trips to de theatre, de music halls...rock concerts. Used t'give him headaches, but then he knew you'd like t'go."

Remy crossed his arms. "That was our secret. We weren't supposed t'tell."

"There's little Jean-Luc didn't tell me. He was crazy about you. I tole him he was turnin' you into a delinquent. But did he listen to me? Oh, no. You little ones never want t'listen! It broke his heart t'have to send you away. But he needed t'let you live your own life."

"Was he such a bad daddy, then _Ton Ton_?"

He sighed. "No, _cher_. I guess you landed on your feet," he said. "Didn't turn out so bad. He'd have given you de world. Me, I never left de city."

"Since you're retiring, maybe now's your chance."

"Ah," he said. "You're right. Where t'go? Any suggestions?"

"You'd like Madripoor," Remy began. "But if you're lookin' for a slower pace, you might want t'start in Key West."

"What's t'do there?"

"Herd cats," Remy replied.

"That speaks to my talents," the man mused. "You take care of yourself, _cher_."

"You too, _Ton Ton_. Safe travels."

From across the yard they heard Mercy call: "Cake is here! Hey, where's Remy?"

Remy looked at his uncle. "You want some cake?" he asked.

"Nah...you can have my piece. Mess up them pretty teeth your daddy bought you."

The man turned and walked off down the driveway. When he was out of sight, Remy returned to the picnic table. A small crowd had gathered around, all the guests plus all the baseball players. Logan and Shirow were both wet.

"What happened?" Remy asked Logan.

"I hate baseball," was Logan's reply.

"Me too," said Shirow.

Emil had one child hanging off his leg and another in his arms. Mercy was holding a sheet cake. Both Emil and Mercy were staring at Remy, mouths agape.

"Was that...?" Mercy began.

"Yup," Remy said.

"But I thought he was a myth!" Mercy exclaimed.

"What?" Bobby asked. "Like Bigfoot?"

Mercy shook her head. "No, like the boogeyman!"

"Boogeyman is not a myth. It's a monster."

Mercy gave Bobby an impatient look and set the cake down onto the table. "Parents used t'tell us clan children he'd come for us if we didn't behave," Mercy explained. "That he's half-thief, half-assassin, and all bad! The bastard chile of exiled Guild members!"

Belle and Remy stared at Mercy until she began to turn pink. "Oh...I mean...not that-Tildy's gonna turn out fine, I'm sure."

"I heard he comes at dawn just as you're about t'go t'sleep," Emil said, his eyes wide as he looked down at Charity. "And snatches you from out your bed! T'take you away to live wit' de other ghost-children!"

"Ghost-children?" Logan said skeptically.

"That de babies he takes turn invisible to your eyes and mine and live like ghosts...never to be seen again!" Mercy explained.

"He'll even change your name, so no one will know you. Calls everyone his _cher_, because he's stolen so many children, he can't remember all their names," Emil added.

"Charles Dickens named a character for him in his book!" Mercy said. "It's true, he's infamous! People know him and fear him!"

"This sounds a bit far-fetched," Ororo said.

"No, no. None of this is true. You've got it all wrong," Remy said finally. "I know de real story. I heard he plotted to overthrow de Council and unite de Guilds. I heard he wanted to break wit' de old ways and live amongst _Les Autres_. I heard he was a corruptin' influence on de younger generation, especially his younger brother...and was ousted and exiled for his ideas."

"How can any of that be true?" Mercy said contemptuously. "And not one of us has heard about it?"

"Because...there was only one someone who heard de tale. De only one who escaped from him, and left de ghost-children," Remy answered.

"Who?" Emil asked.

"Me, _casse-pied_!" Remy said.

"Duh," Jubilee said.

"He was the spittin' image of your daddy, Remy," Anna said. Emil, Belle, and Mercy turned to stare at her.

"Ooh..." Mercy's mouth was perfectly round.

"What?" Bobby asked. "What'd I miss?"

"I thought we were having cake?" Remy said.

"And ice cream," Hank said and pulled the lid off a carton.

"Now we're talking," Cecelia said.

Belle eyeballed the sheet cake. "Is that a store-bought cake?" she said incredulously.

Mercy put her hands on her hips. "It's from a bakery, not a grocery store at least!"

"Well, what happened to the cake you and Hank were supposed to be making all afternoon?" Bobby demanded.

Mercy and Hank glanced guiltily at one another for a moment. "Well," Hank began. "Baking is an exact science...not open to improvisation, requiring exact measurements, and sensitive to...timing."

"Slight mishap. We burned up de cake," Mercy said.

"This mishap wouldn't have anything t'do with de big floury handprints you've got on your ass, would it?" Emil asked Mercy.

"Emil!" Mercy barked. "Language!"

"Ass," Charity said.

"_Now_ she listens to me!" Emil exclaimed.

"Well, it looks like we've got plenty to cut the cake with," Remy said. "Unless Logan wants to do the honors."

"Gross," Jubilee said. "You don't know where those things have been."

"Hey!" Logan protested.

"I thought there would be a candle," Laura said.

"It's not really a birthday cake, _me sha_," Belle told her.

"Oh," Laura said, and might have sounded a bit disappointed. "I didn't know there were rules."

"Well, why not have a birthday cake?" Remy said. "Girl needs a proper birthday. Today's a good day, ain't it?"

"It's a great day!" Bobby exclaimed and hugged Sarah and Laura to his side. Both girls frowned.

"Ugh, total cheeseball," Jubilee said.

Remy searched in his coat pockets and recovered half a taper candle.

"Always ready for a party, ain't you?" Anna asked.

"Better to light a candle than curse de darkness," Remy said and plunked the candle down into the cake. He pinched the wick and it charged, then flickered with a tiny white-yellow glow.

"Make a wish, Tildy!" Kitty said.

"She can't wish," Laura said. "She's barely cognizant."

Remy put his hand on Belle's shoulder and looked down at his daughter's face. "We'll have to have our own wishes for her...'til she's old enough to make her own come true."

* * *

><p><em>Thank you to Jeanniebird, NegativeOther, Jenna, Camille, AnimeAngel, Myra, and especially JasmineBella and TheWritingGirl because otherwise it wouldn't have been so much fun to write without your feedback. Thanks so much for your encouragement and reviews. You are the sweetest!<em>

_Author's Notes: _

_Remy was taken into Fagan's Mob during his time on the streets. It can't be coincidence that _Fabian Nicieza_ gave the Mob the same name as Oliver Twist's Fagin, who was the fence for the street urchins. In Oliver Twist, Fagin was pretty despicable and called everyone "my dear." Fagan/Fagin is also a Gaelic name, which works out great with my Druidic Cult theory for the Guild._

_Tattie: French baby-talk for "Tante" or aunt_

_Ton Ton: French baby-talk for "Oncle" or uncle_

_BellaDonna speaks Cajun French, _me sha _ is ma chere, or dearest._

_I began writing this in January, but really parts had been coming together in my head for about two years now. I hate to start a story I don't know the ending to. I spent a lot of sleepless nights thinking things over. _

_I'd said before that this story was in part inspired by Claire Dane's character in Homeland, who suffers from bi-polar disorder. In the story, Gambit is diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, which the more I read about did seem to explain some of the more crazy things he has done in the comic book world... Sinister gave several possible reasons for why Gambit was the way he was, all or none of which might be true. Gambit did have someone else living in his head for years, which probably would result in a little identity confusion._

_Whatever you think about my characterization of Gambit, whether it be way off the mark or not, my primary influence came from something in my real life. For several years now, associates that I have come to know through work have been involved in a local cult. This cult believes that the end times are soon approaching and you, me, and everyone else not involved with the cult will die in a horrible fiery inferno as Heaven is restored to earth (which they will inherit, even though it had been catastrophically set on fire. Go figure). One day, my husband, myself, and my brother-in-law went to the house of one of the members, took her mattress and her few belongings, and moved her to a temporary home where she could hide from her abusive husband. I didn't want to be a judgmental person, so I read up on this cult so I could try to understand what she was going through. The more I learned about it, the more freaked out I got. Here is a quote from one of the books I read:_

_"I couldn't fathom anything being wrong any more. I'd been told that murder was as wrong as eating birthday cake was as wrong as smoking, as wrong as reading books, as wrong as having sex with your friend's boyfriend. I needed time to grade each of these things on their own merit, to make sense out of the world, one ruined septic system at a time." _

_So consider a person who lives within this completely isolated world with its rituals and beliefs that Heaven on Earth is nigh, where the absolute worst punishment is to be shunned or banished, that the threat of being declared an apostate is enough to make a person commit suicide or to keep them trapped in a cult where they are willing to live with abuse, where you report to a council of elders who literally put you on trial, where you believe that if X is wrong, and Y is wrong, then Z is just as wrong. This isn't fanfiction, this is real._

_I think this experience has informed me more about who I think Gambit is as a character. That Jean-Luc was doing what he could to help his son escape, even though it went against everything he'd learned from the Guild. That Gambit did things he did because he was naïve about how the world really worked, that he was looking for a new tribe of elders to tell him what to do, that he was all ready damned for one sin, so what did another matter? And maybe Sinister really _was_ trying to teach Gambit a lesson in a very sick and demented way._

_**Next time:** Epilogue...Sometime in the future. Revisit the chapter titled "Truth" for a sneak-peek._


	49. Translation

_I sailed a wild, wild sea  
>Climbed up a tall, tall mountain<br>I met an old, old man  
>He sat beneath a sapling tree<br>He said:  
>Now if you got some questions,<br>Go and lay them at my feet  
>But my time here is brief,<br>So you'll have to pick just three  
>And I said:<br>What do you do with the pieces of a broken heart?  
>And how can a man like me remain in the light?<br>And if life is really as short as they say  
>Then why is the night so long?<br>And then the sun went down,  
>And he sang for me this song:<br>_See, I once was a __young__ fool like you  
>Afraid to do the things<br>That I knew I had to do  
>So I played an escapade just like you<br>I played an escapade just like you  
><em>I sailed a wild, wild sea<br>Climbed up a tall, tall mountain...__  
><em>-Chinese Translation, M. Ward

The cell was lit with a soft ambient light and kept at a temperate seventy-two degrees year round, even though the sole occupant complained of it being too cold. It was one of the few things he did complain about, other than the food from the cafeteria. The room was modern and austere; all sharp lines and crisp edges. The floor was of polished marble tile and the walls pale gray and brushed steel. The only thing to alleviate the cold modernity of the room was the art hung on the walls and the occupant himself. The art was contemporary, a riot of color and shapes; regularly switched out for new additions to the collections. It was always something new and always changing. The occupant, on the other hand, was not new and did not change. He'd reached a point years ago where he decided he was who he was, take it or leave it...and if you don't like it, you can go suck eggs.

He was thin and he often wore an ironic smile. He had been told he was boyishly good-looking in his younger days; now he was more striking. The only clue to his true age was the color of his hair; but it had gone white prematurely. Besides being set in his ways, the man was also something of a blabbermouth, though few could say they completely understood just what it was he was talking about.

The occupant would occasionally ask the guards who milled about the facility what they thought about the art on the walls, to get a fresh perspective. Most of the guards had no opinion and knew better than to supply one. There were others who said they _just didn't get it_...they were the ones who would be subjected to a lecture about composition, changing opinions on what constituted as art, and historic influence. Worse luck for the guards who said they thought it was crap. Then followed and hour-long rant about close-mindedness and lack of understanding. It usually ended with someone upping the occupant's medication for the day.

The occupant sat in a chair in the center of the room. He was shackled to it much as he had been when he'd assumed the witness stand all those years ago when he testified against The Antiquary. Back then he'd been forced to speak the truth, even though it had cut him, humiliated him. Now he volunteered the truth freely. The Witness was under the impression no one was listening to him anyway, so what did it matter? They thought him a little crazy...they said he spoke in riddles. The Witness thought they should all just keep their mouths shut and ears open and maybe they might just learn something. What The Witness hated was having to explain himself. Nothing irritated him more...except maybe his no-account idiot of a son-in-law. How he'd had to bite his tongue when he walked his beautiful, perfect-in-every-way, light-of-his-life daughter down the aisle. There weren't enough sedatives on the planet to make that day bearable. But that was long ago, and the idiot proved he wasn't completely useless. The Witness got two equally perfect-in-every-way grand-babies out of the deal.

There was some debate about just why he was named The Witness, a debate he had never bothered to settle. The truth was that he'd originally named himself The Witness as a private joke when he was first taken to the chair. It was a lame effort to conceal the fear he felt at the time. But then the name had stuck and spread and all sorts of rumors started. One story was that he was some kind of criminal mastermind; a devious schemer who was now held here like some kind of spider trapped in his own web. That one wasn't the worst story, but none of them were really true. He was no schemer, that wasn't his style. He was more of the close your eyes and hope for the best kind of guy.

The Witness did have other talents, however. He could bring about the best in the worst people; the people that had been written off as hopeless cases. Conversely, he could also bring about the worst in the best people, or at least make them see a side of themselves they hadn't known before. The Witness also had an excellent memory both for the past and the future. He was also possessed of a head full of maps. He knew which way was up and which way was forward. This was helpful when you needed to move back, forth, and across time and space. He couldn't explain how he did what he did, but again, he hated to explain anything.

The problem with explaining is that it took positively _forever_, and it was just too complicated. Patience was not one of his virtues. He also hated being asked to explain because it felt a lot like criticism, as if he were being asked to justify his actions. The Witness did not take criticism well, which was bad when you were your own worst critic. Then there were the people who _just didn't get it_. What The Witness needed was a simpler way to tell the truth. But since he couldn't so much as draw a stick figure, he couldn't paint them a picture. And his voice had never been the same since that long ago injury, so he couldn't sing a song. If he was going to be honest, all those cigarettes hadn't helped, but he was rarely completely honest...especially not with himself. All that was left was for him to tell a story.

Luckily, he'd learned language completely backwards and knew how to flip words on their heads and make them play tricks so they meant something different every time they were used. Words could be layered like brush strokes so they became more complex and meaningful. A story was like a shared secret between author and listener; it brought you closer together, it made you friends. A story became new and exciting with each retelling, and when you heard it again, you would see things in it you hadn't seen before.

The Witness was trying to figure out how to pare the story down to the essential truth, to take apart the bits and pieces to reveal the real meaning beneath.

"The problem is," he said in his rough voice, "that the whole story is based on a lie. In a way, that is the most interesting part of the story. The fiction becoming fact..."

"...An unintended consequence...of a spell cast to trap the spell-caster. The puppeteer who was tangled in his own puppet's strings."

"What _are _you talking about?" said a voice from below the chair, somewhere on the floor.

"You asked me why I was here. Why I couldn't leave," The Witness replied and shook the shackles that bound him to the chair.

"What was the lie?" asked another voice. This was from the one with an unbending view of the truth. She wasn't his favorite. Not today anyway, but yesterday he'd liked her best.

"Weren't you paying attention? The lie...The lie about why I was made. The lie that made me-_me_. Just because it was a lie, it didn't make it a bad idea," The Witness said.

"It's wrong to lie," replied the voice pompously.

"_I_ didn't lie. It was the lie that birthed me. The lie used to disguise my true purpose."

"Does this _story_ have a purpose?" asked the first voice in a bored tone.

The Witness nudged the figure at his feet with a toe. "Quiet you," The Witness said. "You're not my favorite either."

The second voice sighed. "Tell us the lie again."

"It's not a lie now. It's a secret," The Witness replied.

"We promise we won't tell," said a third voice shyly.

"Well...all right. But this is a trade secret. The lie was about an engine," The Witness told them.

"Like a train engine?" asked the third speaker.

"No, a perpetual engine...a machine that once started, continues to keep going...provided external forces don't wear against it. It's impossible, it shouldn't exist. It goes against the laws of nature."

"Why?"

"Dunno. Physics or thermo-dynamos or something. Ask your uncle."

"Which one?" asked the bored voice.

"The smart one!" The Witness snapped impatiently. "Anyway. I don't run on much, but once I get started, I just keep going. Heh...just ask the ladies-they'll tell you."

"Inappropriate!" announced the second speaker.

"So you're the engine?" asked the third voice. "Is that why you have to stay here?"

"How else is all the power going to get to the batteries if I'm not plugged in?" The Witness asked.

"But _whyyyyy_," asked the one who wasn't his favorite today. "Why do you have to do it?"

The Witness answered: "I thought: I got nothing better to do. This place runs itself. No reason I couldn't make myself useful. And it saves on overhead."

The figure on the floor stared up at the ceiling where a red sun was painted. It was a corporate logo. "What's overhead?" he asked, staring up at the sun with his arms folded behind his head.

"I dunno that either. Ask your other uncle. He's got a head for numbers," The Witness told him. "Though I don't see why we can't just give it all away, the extra energy. Solve the global energy crisis. But then your Tattie _Jefe _started getting all worked up saying didn't I know how many people would come gunning for me if they knew what I could do? And Stark said that's no way to run a business, this isn't philanthropy. Some days I wonder why I kept him on. I said: shouldn't we share the wealth? Then he said I was a socialist and tried to have me thrown out of the board room. I said to him, I'm running this here operation, quite literally, and if he didn't like it he could take his shiny suit and go-."

"_Pépé_! You're rambling!" said the voice from the floor. This one took after his father, he had a smart-aleck mouth. "We don't know what a socialist is!"

"I do," said his twin sister. She was a smarty-pants smart-aleck. The twins were both dark complected, with dark eyes. One had dark hair, the other light like her paternal grandmother. The Witness thought they looked nothing like him, except maybe when they smiled.

"Didn't you like my story at all?" The Witness asked.

"It was too long," answered the boy. His name was Luke, like The Witness' father and his favorite movie character. "But I liked the explosions part."

The littlest girl said: "I liked the part about how you became friends with Granddad." This one was fair, and had the crystal blue eyes of her grandfather. Her name was Kate, but The Witness called her his Kitty-Kate.

"I liked the love story parts," said the other girl, Charlotte, who was named for the X-Men's founder. Everyone called her Charred since that time she accidentally set fire to the chicken coop. "But how come no '_happily ever after_'?"

"But Charred, you _are_ my happily ever after."

"I'm _boooored_," Luke moaned. "Can we go out now?"

The Witness glanced over at the computer monitor that measured the energy storage capacity. It read: 87%, then ticked to 88%. "_You_ can," he said.

"_Noooo_," Luke said. "You have to come too. No one else will play with us."

"On account of you're a bunch of whining brats," The Witness leaned down to look at the boy.

"No, Uncle," said Kate, the youngest of the three. "You're the only one who's any fun."

The Witness decided she was his favorite today. "All right, what kind of fun will we have? Will we play a game?"

"Murderball!" cried the boy. "One, two, three strikes...You're DEAD!"

"No, no Murderball," The Witness said. "Your Auntie Rachel has some crazy ideas about what counts as fun. Let's just keep it simple."

"_Boooring_!"

"Let's go to the playground!" announced Charlotte.

"Too dangerous," The Witness said. "Germs. Butt burnings." The monitor now read 92%.

"Let's play Zombie Apocalypse!" Luke exclaimed, raising his arms stiffly towards the ceiling. "Braaaainss..."

"No, no zombie anything!" The Witness nudged him with his foot again.

"ER Surgeon! You can be the trauma patient!"

"Ugh," The Witness slouched back in his chair.

"We could go to the lake," said Kate. "We could go swim and dive. And practice skipping stones."

"Yeah!" the other two shouted agreement and jumped up from their places on the tile floor. "The lake, the lake!"

"All right, all right," The Witness said and unclasped one of the shackles from his wrist. "I'm done for today. Let's us go get some fresh air."

The boy ran ahead and the two girls claimed each of Remy's hands to lead him from the room. They walked down halls where researchers worked, machinery was manufactured, and paperwork was filed, passed through the security and out the front doors. Then Remy, his grandchildren, and niece stepped out from the shadow of New Sun Technologies headquarters and into the noonday sunlight.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Notes: The LeBeau surname's ancient heraldry really is a Sun. Anyways, <em>That's alls I wrote.<em>  
><em>

_Dear readers, I am soliciting your opinions and feedback for a project compiling all the best Gambit fiction to add to our Community: Gambit Guild – LeBeau Library here on . I know you are readers of discerning taste (you like my story after all, haha!), so please either PM me, our Gambit Guild administrator (penname: LeBeau Library), or submit your recommendations for Gambit fics via feedback. If you know of a story we should add, please send us the title or story ID! We accept all stories, and I do mean that. I don't discriminate against genres, ratings, writing style, or 'ships. You just have to love Gambit!  
><em>

_Profile: LeBeau Library ID: 4126509 _

_And please follow our C2: _Gambit Guild - LeBeau Library

_Also join in our discussion at our Gambit Guild forum (Google: Gambit Guild). Should be plenty of excitement coming up with the new Gambit ongoing series! Schweeet! _


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